The Greatest Sporting Spectacle of All Time
by Bob Wright
Summary: Final story in the series. Wrestlemania is here, and the forces of good and evil are ready to clash in the ring with the fate of the WWF at stake. NOW COMPLETED.
1. Chapter 1

THE GREATEST SPORTING SPECTACLE OF ALL TIME

BY

BOB WRIGHT

AUTHOR'S NOTE: And here we are, with the final story in the series; if you have been following along from the start and wish to put in a review, this will be your last chance. I hope that over these last few months, it has been pleasure for you the readers to bring the immortals of days gone by back to life in a sense, especially those who are no longer with us, and that I have done everyone I've featured justice.

All in-ring personas of wrestling personalities are registered trademarks of World Wrestling Entertainment, Inc. All lyrics are trademarked by their respective copyright holders. And now, one last time, let's go down to ringside and enjoy the show...

* * *

NOT THAT LONG AGO, IN AN ARENA NOT THAT FAR AWAY...

...ON WRESTLEMANIA DAY...

"Hello again, wrestling fans, 'Mean' Gene Okerlund here, and behind me stands the beautiful Pontiac Silverdome in Pontiac, Michigan," the commentator gestured proudly to the arena behind him, "In approximately six hours from now, the opening bell will ring on the greatest sporting spectacle of them all, Wrestlemania. Twenty terrific matches will unfold over the course of at least the following three hours from that point, culminating with a tremendous world title match, with the champion, 'Nature King' Ric Flair, defending against the number one contender, 'Macho Man' Randy Savage. This afternoon will also mark the final match in the storied career of Andre the Giant, as he will team up with Tugboat to face the team of Earthquake and Big John Studd. All the weeks of hype are just about over, and the anticipation is now at just about at fever pitch; I'll readily confess my own anxiety is quite high, as I expect this will be one event to remember for years to come."

He took a deep, profound breath. "At this time, I would like to introduce the esteemed president of the World Wrestling Federation, Mr. Jack Tunney, for a few salient words; Mr. Tunney, if you will," he waved the company president forward, "How does it feel to be here, with Wrestlemania finally upon us?"

"To be honest, Gene, I'm just as anxious as you are," Tunney confessed fidgeting with the bow tie on his formal suit, and for viewers at home, he could be seen sweating, "However, I have a feeling that what will unfold today will be forever memorable in the history of wrestling, one way or the other. And, I have reasonable expectations that, given the preliminary returns we have been receiving, that this Wrestlemania may well break the world indoor attendance record, with the attendees to include approximately a dozen heads of state throughout the world, two dozen members of the United States Congress, and about forty celebrities."

"All right then, here's hoping we do break the world record. Now, as I understand, Mr. Tunney, in the wake of the tremendous advance publicity of Wrestlemania, the World Wrestling Federation's roster is set to grow exponentially in the weeks to come?"

"And indeed, Gene, several of the talent we've signed recently will appear on camera today; when putting together the card for WrestleMania, I determined that, to fully reflect how much the WWF has expanded lately, those newcomers that have most stood out should rightly have their spot on the card. And not just in the ring either; as you yourself know, we have signed Memphis Wrestling legend Jerry 'the King' Lawler, and we have agreed to let him have some air time this afternoon at the commentators' table. Also, we have signed former Internal Revenue Service agent Irwin R. Shyster, who will be one of the persons signed to be in the corner of Ted DiBiase in his match with Roddy Piper today. Among the other talent we are close to signing to contracts include the team of the Heavenly Bodies; 'Sparkplug' Bob Holly, the nephew of famed NASCAR driver Thurman 'Sparky' Plugg; the man calling himself Skinner from the Everglades; from Japan, the self-proclaimed 'White Angel' Hakushi, and from Scandinavia, Ludvig Borga, all of whom I'm sincerely hoping will be a tremendous asset for wrestling fans everywhere. We are also considering a full-on expansion into both Canada and Mexico if circumstances permit."

"Now, in addition to the action in the ring, before the match, you will be honoring the legends of the sport to our worldwide TV audience; was it any trouble getting together the tremendous roster of talent you were able to assemble?"

"Well, we had a few all-stars that declined, but close to fifty of the greatest wrestlers that ever entered the ring will be feted in the pre-Wrestlemania ceremony; it was my decision that to make this the greatest Wrestlemania of all, it would be best to bring in those that helped elevate the sport to the heights it occupies today."

"Any final words, Mr. Tunney?"

"Again, I'd like to wish Hulk Hogan a strong recovery; my only disappointment with this year's Wrestlemania to date is that his injuries sustained in the attack on himself and Elizabeth Hulette in the Funeral Parlor last month prevented him from stepping into the ring to face Ric Flair for the title, as many had been hoping; rest assured if you are watching, Hulk Hogan, that you are nonetheless with us here in spirit, and we are all wishing Randy Savage the best of luck in fulfilling the mission you were originally slated to undertake, and thus winning the world title..."

* * *

From his position flat on his back in his hospital bed, covered in bandages, Hulk stared glumly at the footage of Okerlund and Tunney on the TV screen before him. "Well, I'm not there, Mr. Tunney, and it's not the same as being there in spirit," he muttered miserably, "I don't care what the doctor said; I should be in the ring fighting Flair...!"

"Now Mr. Hogan, you know Dr. Patterson's instructions; you're not supposed to be up and about until your leg's good and healed," the nurse chided him as she entered the room with a tray of refreshments, "Can I get you anything?"

"Yeah, a nice stiff bourbon would be good," Hulk grumbled, twisting over on his side, "Anything to dull the pain of being unable to share in the biggest night in the history of wrestling..."

* * *

T-MINUS 4 HOURS TO THE OPENING BELL...

"Wow, just wow," a mesmerized Ricky Steamboat mumbled softly as he and the other members of the Mega Powers Rock 'n Wrestling Connection stepped through the curtain to stare around the inside of the Silverdome. Although still empty of fans at the moment, it was clear the WWF had anticipated a large showing; a sea of folding chairs were set up all around the ring in the middle of the arena floor, which coupled with the high seat capacity throughout the Silverdome gave a strong indication the world indoor attendance record might fall that evening. "I never thought this moment would come," the Dragon mused, walking up the wide red carpet leading towards the ring, his infant son cradled in his arms, "Over ninety thousand people here to see a wrestling card; all those years of working the territories, playing in front of the small crowds...any of the rest of you ever think we'd ever get to this?"

"To be honest, Ricky, never," Bret Hart mused, waving at the technicians working on the lights over the ring when they waved at him, "I guess I was thinking that it would never get any bigger than Stampede was at its height. Then when Mr. Tunney went national, and it all started to take off, I realized that something special was happening, and if we stayed onboard, we could go higher than anyone in the business ever went before. I'll confess I was just as upset when Mr. Tunney bought out Stampede as Bruce still seems to be, but if it leads to a special night tonight, it will have been worth it, as long as we all give the fans an experience of a lifetime."

"And win the titles, if what Ricky heard's true about the mob trying to take over tonight," Roddy Piper was frowning, "Ergo, I'm going to give it all to get the Million Dollar Belt off DiBiase even if they're not counting it as an official title."

"Just don't go overboard, Roddy; don't stoop down to DiBiase's level to get it," the Hitman advised him.

"Not to worry, Bret old buddy; I have a secret weapon," the Scotsman grinned, "And I intend to put it into play whenever it's convenient."

"OK then. Ricky, you have what it takes to beat Mr. Perfect for the Intercontinental belt; just keep hitting him as hard as you can, and stay out of Heenan's reach," Bret advised the Dragon. "Randy, Liz," he turned to the First Couple of wrestling, watching the camera operators working out their angles all around the Silverdome, "You probably have the biggest task, just in case the bet Mr. Tunney made with the mob comes down to the world title as the tiebreaker. I wish I could say it would be easy, but it won't be; Flair's going to pull out all the stops to hold on to the world title, and Blassie and Sherri are going to back him up with everything they've got. But I know you can beat Flair if you don't let him trigger your emotions, Randy, so just stay focused, and I know you'll pull it off."

"Yeah, I know I'm bringing him down tonight, Hitman, oooooooooohh yeeeeeeeeeaah," the Macho Man declared confidently, "You just watch your back with the Snakeman, Hitman; he knows every dirty trick in the book, and he'll do whatever it takes to try and not just beat you but end your career."

"Well he's not going to end my career, Randy; I'll make good and sure of that. You just make sure you win the gold by any fair and ethical means you can manage. And see, all you had to do was wait a little while longer than before, and now you have the title shot you wanted all along," the Hitman pointed out to him.

"Well, part of me didn't want it like this, with Hulk half-crippled in the hospital..." Savage admitted softly.

"It's OK, Randy; you're going out there for Hulk. Liz, you've trained him really well to this point; I know that...you OK?" Bret asked Elizabeth, who seemed close to tears.

"Oh, it's just...I never thought I'd be here either," she confessed, visibly overwhelmed to be in the Silverdome at that moment with what was about to come looming, "From the first time I started showing up to watch wrestling matches in high school and down near the local civic center, I never thought I'd go this far. All my friends told me, 'Wrestling, Liz? Why'd you want to waste your time with that? You'll never go anywhere with it.' And for a while, I almost believed them. And now, here I am, with a shot at the world title in front of almost a hundred thousand people..."

"And I'm gonna get you that title, like I promised you earlier in the year, yeah," Savage put an arm around her and pulled her close.

"I think you will, Randy," she smiled at him, "It's like a fairy tale, Bret, and I'm the star of the show," she confessed to the Hitman, "I just wish my parents had been able to show up and see me in person; they'll be watching at my brother's house, but it's just not the same as being here live..."

"Well, don't feel bad, Liz; Julie isn't coming either," Bret's expression fell deeply, "She went back to Regina to be with Michelle after we had another flare-up last week; at least she let Mom and Dad bring the kids; I would have been heartbroken if she'd denied them the honor of seeing me tonight..." He sighed and slumped his head against the railing alongside the entrance aisle. "I want to understand her, and I know it's extremely hard on her and the kids with me being on the road so long, but she doesn't try to understand things from my point of view either. I love her with all my heart, but we just...I don't know..."

"Well, hold in there, Hitman," Andre the Giant's oversized hand came down on the Canadian superstar's shoulder, "Maybe with time and effort, you two will sail through."

"I hope so, big guy. And how're you holding up?" Bret asked the Giant with concern, "It's not gnawing away at you, is it...?"

"Well, it's starting to set in that this is the last ride, Hitman," Andre confessed, staring with a longing expression at the ring, "Most of my life I've been stepping into the ring; I never thought it would end...but the doctor's right, I can't go on forever, and better to jump off the train while you're ahead of the game. But first, I've got to give Earthquake and Studd what they've had coming for a long time."

"And I think you will, old chap," Davey Boy Smith patted the Giant on the back encouragingly. "And don't let everything between Julie and you bring you down, brother," he informed Bret, "It's not like Diana and I have a perfect relationship either, after all."

"I know. And certainly Jim and Ellie are far from perfect too," Bret's expression did brighten, "And I have intended to go out there and win the match with Jake for Julie and the kids, even if she's not going to be here..."

"Excuse me, all of you, better head back to the locker room," a technician called down to them from the railing of the deck above the tunnel, "Word came over the wire they're going to start letting people in any minute now."

"Thank you, chap. "Well, we might as well go and get dressed for the event," the British Bulldog told his teammates, starting back towards the curtain, "I think it's going to be a night to remember for everybody."

"Just so as long as that doesn't mean the mob runs the entire sport of wrestling after tonight," Piper said, a steely, determined look on his face, "And let's all be on guard when we're in the ring; they could pull any trick to help the Million Dollar Corporation tonight..."

* * *

T-MINUS ONE HOUR...

"Ah, look at the rabble lining up to pour their money into the pot," Don Kennedesco Vincenelli smiled smugly at the massive crowds of fans streaming into the Silverdome, "Tonight's going to extremely profitable for all of us tonight, in more than one way," he told his inner circle inside his limousine, which cruised through the tollbooth and followed the line of other limos streaming towards the rear entrance of the dome. "How're the lines looking right now, Slick?" he asked his chief gambling officer, hunched over a computer by the door.

"We're breaking records in the annals of gambling already, boss," Slick flashed him a million dollar smile, "So far, the sheep have laid down in excess of fifty million, and that's probably going to double by the time the opening bell rings."

"Excellent, excellent," the don rubbed his fingers in anticipation, "And in about four hours time, I'll be in total control of the WWF, and from here on, every match in every single scheduled event will progress the way _I_ want them to progress."

"As long as the Million Dollar Corporation holds up their end and keeps the belts for us," another goon spoke up.

"Well, we're going to be backing them up as needed, Vinnie. And there they are now," Don Vincenelli noticed his pawns standing by the rear entrance, waiting for him; he had requested a final get-together with them all before Wrestlemania commenced in full. The managers were all decked out in special attire for the event: Freddie Blassie in a sequinned black suit over a red shirt and pants, Jimmy Hart in a loud white suit with the Wrestlemania logo emblazoned on the back and the names of all his charges scheduled to participate on the sleeves, Bobby Heenan in a sequined blue tuxedo and red bowtie; Sensational Queen Sherri in a black fur coat and tiara, and Paul Bearer in a particularly formal suit and tie. Behind them, the entire Million Dollar Corporation were already in their wrestling gear and looked ready to go. "Nice, very nice," Don Vincenelli admired their appearances, lingering in particular on Ric Flair's sequined purple robe encrusted with white feathers and inlaid with gold and precious gems and with arm flaps that when extended made him look like the sun was behind him. "The rest of you can go inside; I've got a few things to take care of," he told his high men in his organization and his extended family, who trudged in the back door, "And send the word to Tunney I want a word with him once I'm done."

He turned to the Million Dollar Corporation. "All right, this is it," he told them all solemnly, "We can get rid of Tunney and the whole family-friendly aspect of the WWF for good if you all just win tonight. I'm counting on those of you with the belts to hold onto it whatever it takes..."

"Not to worry, Don Vincenelli; I just picked this up in the mail this morning," Blassie held up a small case, "Courtesy of my old pal Skandor Akbar, and I'll happily use it if Macho starts getting the upper hand on Ric. Plus, I understand our secret weapon should be in position to help..."

"Sure is," the don's nephew Stefano stepped forward with a grin, "I had some of our top enforcers take care of that this morning. This way, the rest of our deal that got Flair the title can be upheld too."

"Perfect, perfect," Blassie clapped his hands delightedly, "And Martel and I'll throw everything we have at Macho too if we have too. Plus, Jimmy here agreed to take over the control room and flash the pictures if necessary..."

"Pictures?"

"Oh, Ric was thoughtful enough to pull out a couple of...uncomfortable pictures of Liz he took while they were together," the Mouth of the South grinned, holding up a manila envelope, "If all else fails to stop Savage, I'll flash them on the overhead monitors and deal him a psychological blow."

"To keep my title, I do everything to help I can, WOOOOOO!" Flair declared, spreading his arms wide to get the sun effect and spinning around in a circle.

"And then once we win, we party all night," Heenan unexpectedly snatched the hat and a glove off one of the don's bodyguards and slipped them on. "HEEEEEE HEEEEEEEEEEEE!" he squeaked in his best Michael Jackson impression, moonwalking backwards.

"Cut it out!" Sherri slapped him on the shoulder, "You embarrass me, and I won't help with Rude and Perfect!"

"I don't need help, sister; being simply perfect, I could defeat Ricky Steamboat with my eyes closed," Mr. Perfect declared confidently.

"Take the help, Perfect; whatever we do to hold onto the titles so I can win the bet with Tunney and take over, so be it," Don Vincenelli declared, glancing around worriedly at the crowds streaming into the Silverdome, as if expecting the law to show up at any minute. "Sheik, Volkoff, I'm asking you to do whatever it takes to keep the titles too," he told the tag team champions.

"No problem at all, Comrade Vincenelli; Rockers are typical overblown weak American cowards; Comrade Sheik and I will mop floor with them like Momma's old mop," Volkoff predicted confidently.

"See to it you do. And not a word to anyone about our plans; I don't want any press until we've actually forced Tunney out," the don warned them and the entire Million Dollar Corporation, "Now, for the rest of you, here's what I want you to do..."

"Uh, boss, Tunney says to head up to the suites he set aside for us; he'll be right up after he honors the legends," another goon stuck his head out the door.

"OK then, I'll be right up. Tell the PA guy to page Bruce Hart once we know he's here; we've got his reward money waiting," Don Vincenelli glanced at the metal briefcase another one of his bodyguards was holding. "Again, good luck," he told his puppets, "And don't fail me."

* * *

T-MINUS FORTY MINUTES...

Stu Hart exhaled with pride as he crested the ramp into the Silverdome and stared out at the mass of humanity filling up all the seats rapidly. "This is heaven," he said softly to himself, "The entire world coming together for a wrestling card. Never thought I'd live to see the day." He turned to his wife with a smile as she came alongside him. "So, was it worth it, putting up with the business all these years, so we could get here, darling?" he asked her.

"Well, as long as they're honoring you, darling, as they are tonight, I guess it was," Helen surmised, giving him a kiss.

"I just wish Mommy could have come too," came the voice of young Jade; she and brother Dallas looked glum at their place at their grandparents' feet.

"So do I, sweetheart, but she's still here in spirit," Helen told the girl sympathetically, "And you still get to see your father fight up close."

"That's true," Dallas did admit, "And maybe I can get more autographs..."

"Absolutely, little guy. OK, Hart clan," Stu called jovially through the curtain, "Let's fall out; we've got front-row seats awaiting."

"It's going to have to wait a little longer, Dad," Georgia looked frustrated as she stuck her head through the curtain, "Ellie and Diana are about to kill each other again over who married the better man!"

Sighing, Stu trudged back into the bowels of the arena, where, sure enough, his oldest and youngest daughters were shouting furiously in each other's faces, ignoring other sister Alison's attempts to separate them. "...face it, Jim's too rusty, too old, and too fat!" Diana was snapping at her older sister, "Owen's going to be carrying him half the match, and you know it!"

"You think Davey has any better shot against the Deadman!? I say he goes down in less than four minutes, while Jim smashes Jacques and Raymond Rougeau flat by himself in the same amount of time, without needing Owen to hold him up! You know it, and you just can't face it!" Ellie snapped back, shoving her sister hard, "I'll bet fifty bucks on it!"

"You're on!" Diana barked at her, "Easiest fifty bucks I ever made! And let's see how you like it!"

She shoved Ellie back, prompting another in return. "Girls, girls, I told you I didn't want fighting, please!" Stu desperately got between the two of them, "Now, let's be supportive of both Jim and Davey tonight..."

"She started it, Dad; always trying to push Davey up to heights only Hogan's reached so far!" Ellie jerked a finger at her sister, "If she's that eager, she ought to step into the ring and wrestle herself!"

"I don't see you doing that yourself for Jim, Ellie!" Diana shot back.

"Both of you please just stop!" Alison complained, jamming her hands to her temples, "You're driving Brooke and me crazy already," she cuddled her infant daughter close, "And you're scaring your own kids."

Indeed, young Natalya and Harry were staring worriedly at their mothers off to the side. "Don't mind us, dear, just a little family miscommunication," Diana told her son quickly, pulling him close-and then whispering in his ear, "But remember that your Aunt Ellie's crazy..."

"Everyone calmed and ready now?" Stu glanced around at the rest of his children and their families, "Who's got Dean's dialysis machine again?"

"Right here, Dad," Smith held it up, putting an arm around his ailing brother.

"Of course it was you; the two of you are practically inseparable anymore with your instant fortune schemes," Ellie muttered out loud in disgust, "So, the question should be, how much did you two gamble away on the event tonight behind our backs?"

"Hey, we don't gamble a cent, Ellie, honest; I don't know where you come up with those ideas!" Dean raised his arm as if under oath.

"Riiiiiiiight," she was far from convinced.

"As I was saying, Harts, let's roll out; no more than ten minutes to the ceremony," Stu took Dallas by the hand and led the way down the steps to the Silverdome floor. The crowd all around them seemed very excited and eager for the event to begin. A few people seated along the stairs extended their hands to the Stampede Wrestling founder along the way, which he gladly shook. "Well, seems like they did manage to line up more than a few legends," he remarked as they approached the ringside area, taking note of who else had seats around the ring.

"Wow, there's Gene Kiniski...and Lou Thesz...and Pat O'Connor," Wayne seemed excited himself to see some legendary faces, "And Dick the Bruiser and the Crusher; glad to see they made it. And Haystacks Calhoun...although he looks a little ill..."

"Looks like Tunney decided to haul in the competition too; there's the NWA's Bob Geigle and the AWA's Stanley Blackburn," Bruce frowned at the other promotion heads seated on the other side of the ring, "Nothing like humiliating your opponents before you bury them for good."

"Are we really going to have to go through this again!?" Keith sighed in frustration, glaring in his brother's face, "Let it go, Bruce; if Jack Tunney was the enemy, would he have chosen to honor Dad with everyone else tonight?"

"And look who else is here; well hello again," Diana's frown evaporated into a smile to see the now familiar figure of Bonnie Steamboat seated in the front row next to the Harts' assigned seats, "Good to see you again. Where's the little guy?"

"Rick's got Richie with him right now; he'll be bringing him out when he comes out to face Mr. Perfect. Good to see you again," Bonnie rose and hugged her old friend from Thanksgiving, "And Harry, looks like you've grown a little bit now," she smiled at the boy, "I hear you're starting to win some matches yourself now."

"Well, yes..." Harry admitted modestly.

"He's doing great," Diana proudly put her arm around her son, "And I promise one day, he'll be just as good as his father."

"And you don't care who you have to push aside to make sure of it," Ellie muttered under her breath.

"Don't push it, Ellie; I'm only looking out for my child!" Diana warned her.

"Don't either of you push it, please; I want to enjoy the evening!" Alison muttered, deliberately sitting down between Ellie and Diana. "Nervous at all?" she asked Bonnie with a warm smile of her own.

"Of course I'm nervous," the Dragon's bride confessed, a worried expression spreading across her face, "Mr. Perfect's certainly one of the best out there. I want Rick to win, but I don't want to see him get hurt in there, and after seeing how Mr. Perfect and Bobby Heenan swindled your brother out of the title last month, I've been worried about what they might do to keep Rick from winning. But worst of all," she looked outright frightened now, "Rick's apparently going to let Savage be in his corner as counterbalance against Heenan. I refuse to trust the man, especially after he turned on Hulk Hogan for a while last month..."

"Well, Bret said Macho was sorry, Mrs. Steamboat," Ross leaned forward in his seat, listening in, "He said Macho wanted to be with your husband to make up for what he'd done to him with the bell to the throat earlier..."

"Please don't remind me of that," Bonnie held up her arms, looking green at the mere recollection of the terrible moment, "I'll never have any peace with the image of Savage driving the bell into Rick's throat playing in my mind over and over again. If he could turn on Hogan, he could turn on Rick, and I'd never forgive myself for not talking him out of it when I had..."

"You worry too much, hon; just sit back and relax," came the encouraging words of the somewhat squat, dark-haired woman seated next to Bonnie wearing a blue sweatshirt emblazoned with, THE BIG BOSS MAN; DISHING OUT LAW AND ORDER LIKE THEY DO IN COBB COUNTY, GEORGIA. "So you're the Hart family?" she greeted them all, "I'd heard you'd all be sitting around here. Edna Traylor," she extended a hand to Helen, "My boy works with your boy."

"Oh, so you're the Boss Man's mother," Helen realized, shaking the hand, "Well, you must be quite proud of him..."

"Damn right I'm proud of him," Edna nodded firmly, "And when he gives that arrogant blowhard Rick Rude his comeuppance for saying all those nasty things about me tonight, I'll be here to help deal out the justice if he wants me to."

"Sorry, lady, but Rude's going to win this one," Dean piped up smugly, "He's much more talented than your son the hick cop, and he's got..."

"Don't you talk smack with me, boy!" Edna dug out a canister of mace from her purse and thrust it in Dean's face, "I don't care if you need medical attention right now; you'll need even more if you talk smack about me or my Raymond, got it?"

"Sure, sure, got it," Dean quickly slid back into his seat. He slid alongside Smith and whispered in his brother's ear, "I forgot to ask, we're in, right?"

"We're in," the oldest Hart son whispered back with a small thumbs-up, "If we played it right, we erase the hole and end up with a sizeable surplus. And if..."

"Care to share that with us!?" Ellie glared at them, suspicious.

"Uh, well, um..." Smith fumbled for an answer.

"Hey Dad, look who's coming now," Ross abruptly spoke up and pointed towards the aisle, unknowingly bailing Smith out. Two men, one thin and gray-haired, the other bull-necked and squat with a cane, were approaching the Harts' row. "...I can guarantee you, Larry, Roddy Piper will win this match hands down, even with all the people DiBiase's got in his corner," the former was arguing.

"Maybe against another opponent, yes, but this is Ted DiBiase we're talking about," the latter countered, "People put him down because he's got the money, but he's a very talented individual, perhaps the most underrated man in wrestling today, and I can't see any possible outcome except for a successful defense of his title. Well, well, Stu Hart, I didn't know they'd invited you to this," he noticed the Hart patriarch seated in the front row.

"I didn't know you'd be here either, Larry. Everyone, I'm sure you all know Larry Henning and Angelo Poffo," Stu happily introduced the newcomers to his family, who nodded knowingly and even proudly, "I guess you both dropped by to see your sons in action?"

"You betcha, Stu, and to be honored ourselves like you are. Of course, it goes without saying my Curt's going to cruise all the way to a successful title defense tonight," Larry proudly gestured to his own sweatshirt, with a picture of his son under the caption, MY SON IS SIMPLY...PERFECT."

"Well, I'm sorry, but I just know Rick's going to beat him for it," Bonnie spoke up.

"You're Mrs. Steamboat, right? Well, he's a good man, but my Curt's so much better, so sorry, not tonight," Larry told her respectfully but with a devilish grin. "Now Angelo, he's got double the reason to be happy, with both his sons participating, right Angelo?" he slapped Savage's father playfully on the back.

"Indeed, Larry, I couldn't be prouder," Angelo glanced at the ring with a smile, "I always wanted to see Randy go far, and now he's got a shot at the ultimate prize...I just wish we hadn't split so roughly when he came to the WWF," his face fell, "I'd wanted to reestablish contact, but I guess he's been too afraid that I'd be mad to call me. But I am proud of him, and always have been, and at least now I'll finally get to meet that special lady of his that seems to have taken him to the next level."

"Miss Elizabeth is really special, Mr. Poffo; you'll like her," Jade told him with a smile.

"She idolizes Miss Hulette," Stu told the former ICW head, putting a warm arm around the girl, "And watching the shows each week, it's clear the rest of the world does too. I see your other boy's going to be managing tonight too."

"Yes, he is, and I'm just as proud to see Lanny making it in the big leagues too, but I have my doubts about his choice of team," Angelo frowned, "Beau and Blake Beverly come across to me as arrogant, spoiled bullies, and I'm afraid that no amount of training by Lanny's going to get them to change their tune or do well against high-caliber talent like the Steiners."

"Don't be so down on them, Poffo; the Beverlies are a great team; their finisher's terrific," Smith argued.

"It is, yes, but I don't like their roughhouse tactics at all," Angelo shook his head.

"Give them a chance, Angelo; good things might just come out of the Beverlies yet," Larry told him, "Like Mr. Hart's boy here, I like what I see in them."

"Well, we'll know soon enough," Ross consulted his program, "Looks like the Beverlies-Steiners match is slated fourth on the card..."

"Mr. Hart, Mr. Henning, Mr. Poffo, so glad to see you all here," came Tunney's voice. The WWF President approached the front row with ring announcer Howard Finkel on his heels, "This celebration wouldn't be complete without all of you here," he told the three of them, shaking their hands.

"Well, glad to know you thought of us, Jack," Larry thanked him.

"Your attention please, will Bruce Hart report to the front ticket window; Mr. Bruce Hart to the front ticket window," came the announcement over the PA system. All eyes swung to Bruce. "Oh, uh, I, uh, entered a contest giveaway for the event; guess I won something," Bruce said quickly, rising to his feet, "Better, uh, go see what it's all about."

"Strange," Tunney frowned, watching Bruce scoot off up the aisle, "Can't recall any special giveaways for tonight offhand. Oh well, we're just about to start the ceremony; let them all out," the WWF president instructed a ring hand nearby, who nodded and opened the ring barriers enough for Stu, Larry, and Angelo to exit their seats and climb into the ring with the other legends, at the exact moment the bell rung and Finkel announced to the crowd, "Ladies and gentlemen, at this time, before Wrestlemania begins for this year, we would like to take the opportunity to pay tribute to some of the men who have most made their mark on the sport of wrestling over the years..."

* * *

T-MINUS THIRTY MINUTES...

"You have a visitor, Mr. Hogan," Hulk's nurse stuck her head in his door.

"Who?" Hulk turned over in his bed. His eyes widened in surprise to see Timmy Kane, the slightly lame boy he'd feted on national television back in the summer, entering the room. "Well, Timmy, this is a surprise," he exclaimed, "What brings you here?"

"They'd said you were recovering here," Timmy slid into the chair next to Hulk's bed, "I wanted to stop by to keep you company on Wrestlemania day."

"Well, I don't quite know what to say, Timmy..."

"I didn't quite either, Mr. Hogan," the boy's mother entered the room as well, "Since he saw you get injured on TV a few weeks ago, he wanted to stop in and say hello."

"I kind of suspected you'd be sad you weren't going to Wrestlemania. So, I asked Mom if I could stop by to cheer you up, and she agreed," Timmy told the former champion.

"Well, little dude, thanks so much; this does mean a lot to me," smiling now, Hulk rubbed the boy's hair, "I was feeling a bit down. Everything going well for you since last July?"

"Oh yeah," Timmy nodded eagerly, "I'm going in for an operation soon that might fix my leg; maybe I'll finally be able to wrestle. And I don't get picked on anymore."

"Really? Well, that's certainly good."

"Ever since you made him a star for a moment last summer, he's become a celebrity of sorts at school," Mrs. Kane smiled, "So thank you for that, Mr. Hogan, we've..."

Abruptly, an alarm blared in the hallway. "All personnel, all personnel, we have an alarm in Mr. Marella's room," a loud voice boomed.

"Marella!? Joey Marella!? It can't be; he's officiating at Wrestlemania today. Wait here," Hulk told the Kanes, sliding out of bed. He grabbed the cane he'd been allotted and stumbled out the door towards the room two doors down, where medics were streaming inside rapidly. "Mr. Hogan, you're not supposed to be out of bed..." another nurse tried to stop him. Hulk wasn't listening. His eyes widened again to see it was indeed Joey Marella inside the room, and he was spasming wildly. "Wait, doc, how'd Marella get in here!?" he asked a doctor rushing into the room.

""9-1-1 call this morning; his mailman found him on his porch foaming at the mouth; now looks like he's having a relapse," the doctor explained.

"Hold it, I thought I saw another doctor come in here not five minutes ago; he might have been slipped something!" a paramedic shouted while giving Marella a defibrillation.

"What did he look like, dude!?" Hulk asked worriedly.

"Hogan!" Marella gasped at him, "Poison...mob...Vincenelli family...Wrestlemania...world title...fix...!"

"The Vincenelli family did this to you!?" Hulk gasped; he remembered full well listening to Steamboat's recorded conversation of the Vincenelli Family threatening Tunney to sign over the WWF to their control a few weeks ago. "Then this must have been part of their plot to make sure Flair stays champion," he mused, glancing nervously at the clock on the wall. Twenty-five minutes to the opening bell. There might still be enough time to prevent interference in the world title match if nothing else if he hurried...

"Doc, give Joey whatever you need, then get him in a wheelchair and call and ambulance; we're all going to Detroit," he told the head doctor firmly.

"Are you crazy, Mr. Hogan; this man is...!" the head doctor protested.

"We don't have any other choice if we want to save the WWF; get everything he'll need ready!" Hulk ordered, snatching Marella up by the arm and hobbling out into the hall with him. "Mrs. Kane, did you have anything else scheduled this afternoon?" he called back to his room.

"Uh, no, not really, Mr. Hogan," she stuck her head out the door, frowning, "Why?"

"Tell the head nurse to get me a wheelchair; we're going to the airport," he told her, "If we're quick enough, Timmy can get to see Wrestlemania up close. We've got to save the WWF before it's too late..."


	2. Chapter 2

T-MINUS TWENTY MINUTES...

"Cocktails, boys?" Don Vincenelli asked his men, hefting several glasses from the bar at the back of his luxury suite (with its lights turned out for security precautions) with a beautiful view overlooking the Silverdome.

"Sure thing, boss," several mobsters snatched up the glasses in a flash. "How's it looking now, Slick?" the don asked him at his computer nearby.

"We broke the record; five hundred million dollar plunked down now," Slick looked quite pleased.

"Very good. Lock in all bets as final in two minutes..."

There came a knock on the door. "It's Bruce Hart for the money," called the guard outside.

"Send him in," Don Vincenelli called. A somewhat nervous-looking Bruce entered the suite. "Ah, good to see you, Hart," the don greeted him, "And allow me to say thank you for giving us the tip on how to destroy Hogan's reign. Here's your reward; Patrizio," he asked his head bodyguard, who handed Bruce the suitcase, "That should be enough money to keep New Stampede alive for the next six months; we'll send you enough money to continue every six months after that."

"Uh, thanks," Bruce mumbled softly, not making eye contact, "Look, uh, it's not that I'm not grateful or anything but...I did ask that no one would get hurt, and then everything went to hell on the Funeral Parlor..."

"The Million Dollar Corporation came up with that on the fly, Hart; my hands are clean of that," Don Vincenelli told him, "Look at the positive here; you saved your company and kept the Stampede name alive for years to come; that's what you wanted, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess it was," Bruce nodded, but he still looked uncertain, "Well, better run this out to the car before everyone starts getting suspicious..."

"Mr. Tunney's here, boss," the guard called from outside the suite again. Bruce frantically dove behind the bar with the suitcase moments before Tunney strode into the suite, stone-faced. "Well, Vincenelli, this is it," he told the crime lord firmly, "May the better man win...fairly, of course."

"Oh you know it, Tunney," the don shook Tunney's outstretched hand.

"And that includes no interference from any of your men here," Tunney gestured at the rest of the goons in the suite, "I'll be at ringside watching everything; any interference on your part, and the deal's off, and I call the police."

"We won't get involved, Tunney, we swear on our lives," Don Vincenelli assured him. Tunney glared suspiciously at him, then turned to leave, stopping to give another glare to Slick at his console before exiting. Bruce waited a good twenty seconds before popping back up, mumbling a quick, "Thank you," to the mob boss, and leaving himself. Don Vincenelli closed the door. "Ready if needed, boys?" he asked his men.

"Yep," the mobsters all drew various firearms, "We're ready..."

* * *

T-MINUS FIFTEEN MINUTES...

"OK everyone, gather round," Bret asked the rest of the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection, waving them into a circle in the middle of the locker room, "Now, I'm sure we all know what's at stake here," he told them solemnly, "We know what we have to do; win the belts, or the mob gets the WWF and ruins it. So today, we're all fighting for wrestling fans all around the world who believe the way we do it is the right way."

"Amen," his teammates mumbled softly.

"Mob, Bret?" it was Owen, leaning his head around the nearest row of lockers, Neidhart behind him, "What about the mob?"

"This is bad, Owen; the WWF's in trouble," Bret put an arm around his brother and explained the story to him and the Anvil. "Well, that leaves just one thing left to do; win the titles, and beat their own guys so they can't profit," Neidhart declared firmly, "And you can bet, pal, that Owen and I are going to give the Rougeaus what they've had coming since they helped Jimmy humiliate us."

"See if you can, Jim. Join on in," the Hitman waved his brother and brother-in-law into the circle to clasp everyone else's hands. "You all know what to do," he told all of his teammates, "Ricky, just give it your best and don't let Perfect outflank you. Ray, Rude's probably going to try and provoke you during your match. Don't let him; you're strongest against him with a clear mind, even if he literally throws everything including the kitchen sink at you. Roddy, just keep an eye on everyone in DiBiase's corner, and stay focused on the match; his overconfidence is one of your best weapons. Tito, Martel's probably also going to be coming in overconfident, and perhaps a little angry to make up for you eliminating him at Survivor Series. Do the opposite of what I'm telling everyone else and try and get him mad enough to make a big mistake. Davey, just keep hitting the Undertaker with everything; he's a difficult case, but he's not unstoppable; no one's unstoppable. Andre, don't let the emotion of the moment get the better of you; if it starts to get overwhelming, don't be afraid to tag Tugboat in to deal with the other team. Randy, Liz...and you are looking lovelier than ever," he commended the First Lady of Wrestling, now decked out in a lovely ankle-length white dress with white arm-length gloves, matching Savage's white robe, "Again, whatever it ethically takes to win, do it, but don't stoop to Flair's level or give into the anger. Yes, he deserves to go down for treating Liz like trash, but focus on the match and don't let it get to you. We can do this, we can save the WWF, so let's all just give a hundred percent out there. OK, all in," he gestured for them to put their hands together in the middle of the circle, "On three: one, two, three..."

"LET'S GO DO IT!" they declared in unison and broke up. Bret sided alongside Owen and Neidhart once everyone else had started drifting off. "Actually, I think it's even worse than what I said publicly," he whispered somberly, "I talked to Wayne a few weeks back, and he mentioned that..."

"Good pep talk, amigo," Tito patted him on the shoulder, interrupted his revelation, "You're just as good as Hulk, actually. When his career does actually wind down, you'd probably be a good candidate to move into his spot as permanent leader."

"That would be nice, Tito, yeah; I want to win the world title some day myself, but patience is the way to go until my time comes," Bret told him, "You'd probably make a good champion too given the WWF's thinking of expanding into Mexico. Poor Hulk," he mused softly, "I hope he's holding up OK about not being able to make the pay-per-view..."

* * *

T-MINUS TEN MINUTES...

"There, there, Departures, that way!" Hulk waved Mrs. Kane wildly towards the ramp to the airport's departures' section.

"Please don't shout, Mr. Hogan!" she looked rather unnerved as she swerved around several slower cars, braking to a stop in front of the terminal. "Mr. Hogan, I repeat, Mr. Marella really should not be up and about so soon after being poisoned...!" the doctor in the back seat with the referee tried to reason with him.

"They're bound to have more medical stuff on the plane and at the Silverdome if we need it; come on!" Hulk dragged Marella out of the back seat and stumbled towards the terminal. "I don't see how you need us anymore," Mrs. Kane protested, following him with her son in tow, "And so you know, Timmy does have school tomorrow...!"

"Then he'll have a heck of a story to tell his classmates about how he was at Wrestlemania; for wanting to cheer me up, he deserves that much. Detroit, Detroit, Detroit...!" Hulk quickly scanned the departure boards for any flights heading to the Motor City within a reasonable time from the present. "There, Continental, Gate Thirty-Three, five fifteen departure!" he exclaimed; that was just a little over a half hour away. He glanced around for the Continental desk, located it, and stumbled towards it. "Five tickets for the flight to Detroit, no baggage; what's the arrival time in Detroit?" he asked the woman at the counter.

"Barring any delays, one hour, forty-five minutes," she told him. Hulk did some mental calculations. "We just might make it in time," he mused. "Mrs. Kane, if you could; I don't have any money on me at the moment; I promise to pay you back," he asked her. Sighing, she nonetheless drew her credit card out of her purse and handed it to the clerk. "Don't be upset, Mom; this is going to be fun," Timmy seemed rather excited.

"Just so as long as you and I don't end up going to prison for taking Mr. Hogan and Mr. Marella out of the hospital for this," she mumbled worriedly.

"I'll vouch for you, Mrs. Kane, don't you worry about that," Hulk assured her, glancing back up at the departure board. The flight was still on time, but who knew how long it would be that way? The sooner they were on board and off, the better...

* * *

"OK people, we are two minutes to air," the director told the crew over his headset inside the production truck outside the Silverdome, "Gorilla, Jesse, give me a mike check."

"Testing, one, two, three, four, five," came Gorilla Monsoon's voice over the air.

"FIVE, FOUR, THREE, TWO, ONE; if you can't hear me, get another job!" shouted Jesse 'the Body' Ventura contemptuously.

"Maybe that's what you need to do, Jesse," the director rolled his eyes in disgust. "Mike check on you too, Vince," he called to the truck's audio booth, where Vince McMahon was seated with headphones on.

"One, two, three, four, five," McMahon said calmly, "I think this is going to be big, Phil, really big-of course, once I'm in charge of the WWF, it'll be even bigger."

"Sure, Vince, sure you're going to run the WWF some day," the director almost chuckled. "All right, camera operators, give me a go/no go for air. Camera One..."

"Go."

"Two?"

"Go."

"Three?"

"Go."

"Four?"

"Go."

"Five?"

"Go?"

"Six?"

"We're go, Phil."

"Seven?"

"We're go too."

"Eight?"

"Go."

"Handheld One?"

"Go."

"Handheld Two?"

"Go."

"AAAAAAAnd, Handheld Three?"

"Also go."

"OK, Audio?"

"Go, Phil," the chief audio technician spoke up inside the truck.

"Video?"

"Go."

"Switcher?"

"Go."

"Lighting?"

"Go."

"Satellite operator?"

"We are go, Phil," came the final affirmative. The director took a deep breath. "All right, give me black on the monitors; stand by, Vince, we're going in thirty seconds," he advised McMahon, "Number Two, get me the dome wide shot for the intro; Handheld One, focus on Mr. Tunney in the middle of the ring. Stand by everyone, we're at twenty seconds." He leaned forward on the control panel, his eyes glued to the countdown clock, "We are on in fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, twelve, eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, hit the ID," he ordered the videodeck operator, who hit the Play button, prompting the appearance of the familiar footage of the WWF logo soaring over a desert lake and being struck by lightning over Okerlund's, "The World Wrestling Federation; what the WORLD is watching." "Three, two, one, hit the opening package, go, Vince!" he barked the opening order.

"IT'S TIME FOR WRESTLEMANIA!" McMahon roared grandly as the opening graphics for the broadcast burst onto the screen to the strains of the Wrestlemania theme, "The World Wrestling Federation is proud to present the greatest event in all of wrestling; eighteen terrific matches featuring the greatest WWF superstars in the entire world, including: Mr. Perfect defending the Intercontinental title against the determined Ricky 'the Dragon' Steamboat! Andre the Giant, in his farewell match, teaming up with Tugboat to face the maniacal Earthquake and Big John Studd! And it's a main event without compare, as World Wrestling Federation champion Ric Flair defends the title against the number one contender, 'Macho Man' Randy Savage! It's the greatest sporting spectacle of all time; IT'S WRESTLEMANIAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

"Cue the arena wide shot; key in the Silverdome and Live graphics," the director ordered, nodding in satisfaction at the opening shot, "All right, open Mr. Tunney's mike and give me the closeup."

Down in the ring, Tunney buried his nervous look under a warm smile as he stepped into the middle of the ring and stared with pride at the tens of thousands of cheering fans seemingly packing the Silverdome all the way to the rafters. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," he announced, "Welcome to the beautiful Pontiac Silverdome in lovely Pontiac, Michigan. And welcome, one and all, to Wrestlemania!"

He thrust his hand high in the air as columns of pyrotechnics shot in the air all around the ring like fountains. The crowd erupted in rapt applause. "At this time," Tunney continued, the smile now a natural one, "Would you all please rise and remove your hats for the singing of, 'America, the Beautiful...'"

* * *

"Do they really have to sing that stupid song?" a grumpy Frenchy Martin complained in the locker room, watching the opening footage on the nearest TV set, "It offends Dino and myself."

"Well, welcome to America, Frenchy," Jimmy told Dino Bravo's personal trainer with a shrug, "And so you know, you're not going to be doing Dino any favors carrying that to the ring," he frowned at the large sign in Frenchy's hands proclaiming U.S.A. IS NOT OK.

"You say America respects freedom of speech; thus, I have the freedom to say I hate them if I want," Frenchy countered.

"All right, but so you know, they're going to hit us with everything but the kitchen sink as we head to the ring. Ready, Dino?" the Mouth of the South asked the Canadian strongman, who was punching away at the punching bag in the corner of the locker room.

"You bet I am, Jimmy," Bravo declared loudly, giving the bag one last slug, "They're all going down hard!"

"That's what I want to hear, Dino. So, let's get going and start Wrestlemania with a bang," Jimmy hefted his megaphone in one hand and the flag of Quebec from the corner with the other, just as the locker room door swung open. "Time, pal, let's get set," Blassie stuck his head in.

"You got it...wait, you're not managing in the opening match, Freddie," his colleague frowned.

"Oh yes I am," Blassie grinned, "I bought the contracts for Bigelow and Kamala-the Wizard wanted some time off, so I agreed to fill in for him in the near term-whoa, back there, big guy," he complained as the gigantic Kamala leaned in the doorway behind him, pushing him forward. Grunting, the safari-suited, Rohrschach-masked Kim Chee also appeared and tapped the Ugandan Headhunter with his stick, making Kamala retreat. "Thanks, K.C.," the Classy One thanked his new man's handler, "Well, let's saddle up; our destiny awaits," he told Jimmy.

"You got it, Freddie. Let's go, men," the Mouth of the South led Bravo and Frenchy out the locker room door and took a sharp turn to the left. Directly ahead in the middle of the tunnel to the ring, a set of platforms flanked a pair of motorized ring carts designed to look like miniaturized wrestling rings. "This one, boys," Jimmy hopped up the stairs and climbed into the cart on the left, on which Bigelow was already standing with Muraco, Orton, and Fuji, who was wearing the kimono he usually wore when managing Yokozuna, but still had his trusty cane in hand. "Ah, Mr. Hart, so glad you and Mr. Bravo could join us for this match," the Devious One greeted him as Jimmy joined him at the front of the cart.

"Good luck, Mr. Bravo and all of you," the cart attendant wished the Canadian strongman and his teammates for the opening match, locking the rear ropes into place once he and Frenchy were on board as well after Blassie and his remaining men.

"I don't need luck; there's no way we're losing this match," Bravo predicted confidently.

"They're all going down hard with a loud BAM, BAM!" Bigelow added, punching hard at the air.

"You just hit them hard, Bigelow, and you'll go far with me," Blassie patted him warmly on the shoulder. "Did they clear that for you, Ace?" he asked Orton, seeing his arm was in a cast.

"Of course they did, and I plan to put it to good use," the Cowboy nodded firmly, "My boy's here tonight, and I'm not going to lose in front of him."

"No way, partner. Blassie, you got what I asked?" Muraco asked the manager.

"Yep, ask and you shall receive," Blassie held up a plastic bag and handed it to Fuji, "Just try not to take a..."

There came a loud squawking sounding, followed by humming. "WEEEEEEELLL, black or white, rich or poor, come on everybody, and do the Bird some more!" Koko B. Ware was in fact singing his theme as he strutted around the corner, Frankie fluttering on his shoulder. "Ready to be humiliated in front of ninety thousand people, gents?" he jovially asked the opposing team as he hopped up onto the second ring cart.

"It's you who shall be humiliated, Birdman," Bravo thrust a finger into his face, "And after I'm done, your little pet's going to be Kamala's victory dessert."

Frankie squawked again and snapped his beak towards Kamala, who yelped in shock and menacingly raised his spear high over the parrot. "No, no, not now, big guy," Blassie tapped Kamala's arm with his cane, while Kim Chee simultaneously tapped it with his stick, making the Ugandan giant lower the spear, "After we win, then you can have parrot stew."

"No way, brother, Frankie and I and the rest of our team are going to win easy," Koko predicted, taking his parrot's perch off a stagehand next to the cart and placing it on the cart floor, "And the Birdman and his friends will fly to glory!"

"You tell him, _chico_," came Razor Ramon's voice from the around the corner. The Bad Guy looked cool and confident as he lead the rest of Koko's team onto the cart. "You're all going down, _chicos_," he told the opposing team, "Because I got machismo, and so do all these gentlemen," he nodded warmly at his teammates,all while twisting the toothpick between his teeth, "And you've all got a big basket of nothing."

"Watch the mouth, buster; you don't want to make us mad!" Muraco threatened him, "We'll beat all of you so bad you'll be begging for mercy before we finish you off...!"

"We don't beg for mercy, and we don't go down without a fight, beach bum," the Tornado shot back, "Tonight's the biggest night in the history of wrestling, and we're going to be fighting like there's no tomorrow..."

"Stand by, all of you; your entrances are coming in about a minute," another aide called out, listening in to his headset...

* * *

"Take a look; a sea of humanity everywhere here in the Silverdome; we may set the world indoor attendance record tonight, as the World Wrestling Federation presents Wrestlemania!" Monsoon proudly delivered his opening introduction to the broadcast, "Gorilla Monsoon here with Jesse 'the Body' Ventura, and what a card we've got tonight, including the main event, Randy Savage versus Ric Flair for the world title that was, for all intents and purposes, stolen off Hulk Hogan, who was then injured so severely he was unable to make a planned rematch for the title."

"Which was just what Hogan deserved, as I've said time and again," Ventura declared unapologetically, decked out in a multi-colored head scarf and a black leather jacket zipped all the way up, "The one thing I like best about this year's Wrestlemania is no Hogan around to hog the spotlight. Now, I don't take anything away from the Macho Man, but I can guarantee right now, there's no way he's going to beat Ric Flair for the world title."

"We shall see about that. Intercontinental and tag titles also on the line tonight, with Mr. Perfect defending against Ricky Steamboat, and the Mega Mercenaries, the Iron Sheik and Nikolai Volkoff, defending against the Rockers. The Million Dollar Man Ted DiBiase is also putting his Million Dollar Belt on the line for the first time against 'Rowdy' Roddy Piper; for so long DiBiase has claimed his title is the best in the entire sport of wrestling, now we'll see how well he backs that bluster up."

"Oh you bet he's gonna back it up, Gorilla; finally, DiBiase will show the world how great a wrestler he is with a title on the line-and, let's not forget, he's got Virgil back in his corner for tonight's match."

"Virgil indeed back in his boss's corner with his monthlong suspension for his involvement in the affair that got Ric Flair the world title now up; as I understand, he and Jimmy Hart will also be joined by Sensational Queen Sherri and one of the newest members of the World Wrestling Federation, Irwin R. Shyster of the I.R.S., whom I understand Ted DiBiase has trusted with his tax returns for years now. And also a bittersweet affair, as Andre the Giant's legendary career will come to an end in a tag team match consisting of he and Tugboat, to be managed tonight by Captain Lou Albano, to face Earthquake and Big John Studd, and for Andre, this is a chance to get a final bit of justice against both Earthquake for trying to break his leg last month and Studd for cutting his hair on national TV all those years ago."

"But it won't do him any good; Earthquake and Studd are the original Natural Disasters, and they are going to cause havoc on Tugboat and Andre, who might get crippled and shaved on his way out," the Body predicted.

"But rest assured Andre will not go down without a fight. A record twenty-two matches about to be contested tonight, including a big ten man match to start things off, so let's go down to ring announcer Howard Finkel with the opening announcement," Monsoon swung his seat forward as Finkel stepped into the middle of the ring over the bell ringing loudly. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is our opening bout of Wrestlemania!" he declared proudly to a thunderous ovation, "It is a ten man tag match, scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, Team Number One."

Bravo's theme started playing over the Silverdome's loudspeakers as the Canadian Strongman's cart lurched through the curtains and down the aisle towards the ring. "At a total combined weight of 1,547 pounds," the announcer continued, "First, accompanied by their manager, Mr. Fuji, from Sunset Beach, Hawaii, the Magnificent Don Muraco, and, from Kansas City, Missouri, 'Cowboy' Bob Orton! Accompanied by their new manager, 'Classy' Fred Blassie, from Asbury Park, New Jersey, Bam Bam Bigelow, and, also accompanied by his handler, Kim Chee, from the deepest, darkest jungles of Uganda, Kamala! And, accompanied by his manager, the Mouth of the South, Jimmy Hart, and his personal trainer, Frenchy Martin, from Montreal, Quebec, Canada, weighing 265 pounds, here is Canada's, and by his own estimation, the World's Strongest Man, Dino Bravo!"

"A decided thumbs-down for this team here, although they appear oblivious to this; Dino Bravo waving his arms at the front of the cart, trying to get the fans to respect him just because he claims he's the world's strongest man..." Monsoon shook his head softly.

"What's this 'by his own estimation' nonsense; Bravo IS the world's strongest man," Ventura complained.

"He has yet to fairly prove that, Jesse. And it's clear the fans here in Detroit don't think he's number one either," Monsoon couldn't suppress a small smirk at the sight of the fans hurling scores of garbage at Frenchy's anti-American sign. "The rest of Dino Bravo's team also looking quite ready, including Bob Orton, despite the cast on his supposedly broken wrist..."

"What do you mean supposedly; he broke it good fighting Piper after the Royal Rumble, and he's been under doctor's orders that he has to wear it if he wants to keep wrestling," the Body countered.

"It may be that he has doctor's orders, but his injury did not look that bad when I got a look at it to warrant a cast being on it for this long, Jesse. And even you can't deny that Orton has misused that cast on at least one occasion since then..."

"Well I can promise he ain't gonna do anything illegal tonight, not with his kid here in the front row."

"Bob Orton in fact now climbing down off the cart with everyone else and going over to his wife and son to get some final good luck wishes from them; we do understand young Randy there wishes to be a wrestler like his father, and much as we here at the World Wrestling Federation disapprove of how his father conducts himself in the ring sometimes, we wish him all the best and hope he'll be able to join us here in the WWF when his time comes."

"Hey, he'd be a natural here, Gorilla; he's the scion of one of the best wrestling families out there."

"Indeed. Another good wrestling family happens to be the von Erichs, and right there a few places down from the Ortons, you can see the great Fritz von Erich, who if you tuned in earlier saw honored in the pre-show ceremony for the legends of the sport. And Fritz's son is of course a member of the opposite team in this match, who should be coming out any minute now..."

And indeed, it was at this moment that Bravo's theme switched to Koko's, and the second cart motored through the curtain to Finkel's announcement, "Their opponents are at a total combined weight of 1,295 pounds: from Denton, Texas, the Texas Tornado, Kerry von Erich! From Pembroke, North Carolina, Tatanka! From the Fiji Islands, 'Superfly' Jimmy Snuka! From Miami, Florida, Razor Ramon! And from Union City, Tennessee, Koko B. Ware!"

"Listen to this crowd go crazy for Team Number Two-and look at them throwing wooden Wrestlemania nickels to the crowd; they appreciate the fan support they get every time they step into the ring," Monsoon grinned at the quintet's warm gesture for the fans.

"They're trying to bribe them, that's what they're doing," Ventura grumbled, "And if you think they deserve respect from anyone, you're a total dipstick."

"Now come on Jesse, give these guys some respect; many of them are top contenders for the Intercontinental title, and should get some shots at it following Wrestlemania..."

"But like any of them really have a shot to win. This is as much a joke team as the Warrior's Survivor Series squad, which Koko and Snuka know all too well having been forced to be on it. And if they think they're going to do any better with the Great Indian Hype, Fritz's whiny kid, and the Not-So-Bad Bad Guy, they're even stupider than they let on."

"Again, Jesse, you take pot shots at Razor Ramon, even though when he first came here to the WWF, you praised him to the moon and beyond."

"Well, he tricked me, and all the wrestling fans out there; he's not the man I thought he was. And if he wants to be the spineless softy he is now, I still say he shouldn't call himself the Bad Guy anymore."

"And as I've said, he keeps the title for intimidation purposes, to let his opponents know he's not a pushover. Razor Ramon all smiles at the moment, high-fiving fans all around the ring; his teammates are doing the same, and handing out the last of their wooden nickels as well. Kerry von Erich taking a big hug from Fritz, who has to be savoring the moment, and yet probably wishing all of his sons could be here in the ring tonight on the biggest night in the history of the sport of wrestling. But he can take comfort knowing Kerry will be wrestling tonight for all of them. Tatanka also getting some warm support from a pair of other wrestling legends who were feted earlier, Chief Jay Strongbow and Wahoo McDaniel, who gave him the sacred ceremonial headdress he's wearing to ringside tonight; several other representatives of major Native American tribes are also here at ringside, visibly wishing Tatanka luck as well. Tatanka joining his teammates in the ring now; this was originally just slated to be Dino Bravo versus Koko B. Ware, but at the last minute, Jack Tunney apparently decided that since this was going to be the biggest night in the history of wrestling, more guys should have a shot at glory, so he expanded this to a ten man match and filled up the teams with the highest-ranked remaining contenders on the WWF roster..."

"And if he thought a no talent hack like Ware or an over the hill bum like Snuka qualify as top talent, his screws are loose too."

"Will you stop!? Koko sliding Frankie out onto his ringside perch..."

"And that overgrown pigeon better not interfere on Koko's behalf in this match; he should be shot on sight if he does, or run through with Kamala's spear."

"Now come on, Jesse; has Frankie ever once left his perch during his master's matches?"

"There's a first for everything, Gorilla..."

"There goes the bell, but it appears not everyone's out of their ring clothing yet," Monsoon ignored him, "Each team going into a huddle, going over last-minute advice with each other. Finally it looks like we're set, and...uh oh, look out, we're going to start with Snuka against Muraco; these two hate each other with a passion, so perhaps this is fitting that Wrestlemania will start like this. Both men glaring each other down; Muraco yelling what sounds like very derrogatory anti-Fijiian insults at Snuka-look out, Razor Ramon throws his toothpick at the Magnificent One from the apron, and an enraged Muraco charges him and starts swinging at the Bad Guy!"

"That's terrible; Ramon ought to know Muraco deserves a lot more respect than that!"

"I think Don Muraco deserves no respect at all, and the Magnificent One cheap shotting Razor Ramon, screaming that he should be respected-and the Superfly pulls him off his partner and gives him a big body slam; Wrestlemania is officially underway!"

"And what a terrible start, with Muraco being double teamed before the match even starts!"

"You call that a double team, Jesse? Jimmy Snuka pounding away on Don Muraco, wanting to settle the score once and for all with the man who's insulted him to no end here in the WWF. Snuka hurls Muraco hard into the corner, here comes the big splash-right on target. Snap suplex on Muraco and a beauty; Snuka jumps on the Magnificent One's back, now whips him into the ropes and flattens him with a hard forearm smash. Snuka off the ropes himself...whoa, just as I thought, Orton nails him from behind with the cast; referee did not see it!"

"Well, he can't call what he can't see, Gorilla."

"Muraco with a tag to his partner Orton, and Ace with a hard right hook with his good hand, and now takes Snuka down with a dropkick off the ropes. Superfly crawling to his corner, and a tag to the Tornado. Texas Tornado sizes the situation up, bounces off the ropes and launches himself at Orton, who picks him up, whoa, backbreaker and a beauty. Orton going up to the top rope, he's raising the cast over his head; referee yelling at him he'd better not use it unless he wants his team tossed. Orton looking frustrated, but here he comes, down hard on the Tornado's chest. Ace hooks the leg: one, two...no. Orton twisting Kerry's arm, trying to wear him down. Tornado grimacing in pain...no, wait, he swings the legs up and hooks around Orton's neck, and he's got him down in a crucifix! One, two...Kamala in to make the save. Orton stretches out and tags in the Ugandan Headhunter the moment he steps back through the ropes..."

"That's good strategy there; keep the tags coming as quickly as possible so you keep circulating fresh guys in there."

"Kamala with a huge overhand blow that sends Kerry von Erich down to the mat-and now another big roundhouse right. Whoa oh, the big guy lifts the Tornado up by the throat and hurls him halfway across the ring! Kamala looking to his new manager Freddie Blassie for advice; the Hollywood Fashion Plate telling him, it appears, to break the Tornado's back. Kamala charges across the ring, whoa, jumps hard on the Tornado's back, and now he hooks the neck on the ropes and jumps on the back again!"

"I love it; you and McMahon call Kamala a mindless savage, but he's smarter than you give him credit for."

"Kamala holding the ropes pressing his full weight down on the Texas Tornado, who hasn't really been putting up any offense so far in this one..."

"No one on his team has; didn't I say they were outclassed in this one?"

"Kamala jumps on the back again, and now he's climbing the ropes; are we going to see an Air Africa already? Kamala perched high above the ring, here he comes-Tornado rolls out of the way in time! Kerry von Erich stumbles to his corner and tags in the Birdman; Koko B. Ware charges straight at Kamala and rams the Ugandan Giant head-first in the chest...but Kamala grabs the head and gives him a headbutt..."

"Positive proof the Birdman is a birdbrain for thinking that would work."

"Will you stop!? Kamala swings another mighty punch-Koko ducks it and look out, he picks him up and slams him back-first into the corner! Koko up on Kamala's shoulders, punching away! Blassie yelling at the big guy to get out of there; Kamala looking dazed as he stumbles out of the corner; his teammates are extending their hands towards him-Koko off the top rope, connects with the elbow, sending Kamala sprawling to the mat..."

"But he tags Bam Bam in on the way down, and that's a legal tag."

"Indeed it is; Bam Bam Bigelow with a hard blow to the Birdman's back before he can get back up, and now he throws in a headbutt of his own. Abdominal stretch applied; Koko grimacing, trying to fight it. Blassie yelling for Bam Bam to not let up, and Bam Bam indeed pouring it on. Referee asking Koko if he wants to give up; Birdman shaking his head firmly. Bam Bam relents, kicks Koko in the face, now whips him into the ropes, and whoa, flying headbutt takes him down again! Bigelow with the cover: one, two...just missed the three there. Bam Bam with a hard right hook to Koko's face, going up to the top rope now and nodding; I think he's going to try a diving headbutt now. Bigelow jumps-and Koko jumps out of the way! And there's the tag to Razor Ramon, who flexes his muscles hard as he climbs into the ring. Razor Ramon with a hard right cross to Bigelow's face, followed by a left, and a right, and a left, and another right!"

"See, this proves just how predictable the So-Called Bad Guy really is; his arsenal is so limited..."

"Ramon gives Bigelow an atomic drop; he's on fire right now!" Monsoon ignored his partner again, "Bam Bam rushes to his own corner and tags in Dino Bravo; Canada's self-proclaimed strongest man swings a right hook of his own, but Razor Ramon blocks it and takes him down with a leg sweep and starts twisting the leg. Bravo grimacing, trying to get to the ropes-and look at that, a cheap shot kick with the other leg right in the boilerplate!"

"Yeah, I know, Gorilla; anything Bravo ever does is cheap to you."

"Well you know kicking people there's against the rules, Jesse! But of course, why would you care; you always cheap shotted your opponents when you were wrestling too, so of course you'd support this. Bravo then following that up with an equally cheap raking of Razor's eyes, and now a hip toss sends him across the ring. The Canadian Strongman flexing his muscles and giving Razor a leg drop, as our cameras now show a far more famous Canadian, the immortal Stu Hart, frowning there in the front row with the rest of the extended Hart family; Stu Hart has often come out and said that he considers Dino Bravo a disgrace to Canadian wrestlers everywhere, and it's clear he disapproves of Bravo's tactics at the moment as well."

"Well, if he doesn't like it so much, why doesn't he get into the ring and fight Bravo like a man!?"

"He doesn't have to; Razor Ramon with a monkey flip, and Bravo goes flying hard into the ringpost when he tries another leg drop! The Bad Guy getting back to his feet, grabs Bravo by the shoulders, and here's a neckbreaker, and a beauty! Razor Ramon going up to the top rope, he measures Bravo, and here he comes...bullseye! Hooks the leg: one, two...Muraco in to make the save. Ramon nonplussed, hot shot in the breadbasket, whips Bravo into the ropes, and a tremendous dropkick takes him down again. Jimmy Hart shouting at his man to tag out through that cursed megaphone of his, and Bravo trying to get ot his corner...no, Ramon drags him back into the ring, and here comes a big suplex-yes! The Bad Guy strutting confidently now, drops the elbow hard on Bravo, and now here comes a backbreaker too. Dino Bravo looking outclassed and completely gassed, and now he gets flung into the ropes again; Razor jumps over Bravo on the rebound, jumps over him again, and another dropkick sends Bravo flying clean out of the ring! Razor Ramon pumping his fists in victory; listen to the Silverdome go bananas!"

"Hey, he ain't won anything yet, so why don't they save it till he does!?"

"Frenchy Martin helping Dino Bravo up, looks like they're having a consultation on why everything seems to be going wrong at this point...but they're not going to finish it; Razor Ramon yanks the Canadian Strongman back up on the apron, and look out, suplexes him back into the ring! Ramon tags Tatanka in, and the both of them fling Bravo into the ropes again-they both flatten him with a double forearm smash."

"Now this time the Bad Guy is the bad guy; if he's so nice now, why does he have to double team!?"

"It was only the one move; Razor Ramon climbing out of the ring now, and Tatanka setting to work on Dino Bravo, with a big scoop slam. Bravo looking totally dazed, crawling around on the mat; he has no idea where his corner is. Tatanka off the ropes, and a diving splash on him from behind. Hauls Bravo up, and gives him one of those patented tomahawk chops-and now another one..."

"Bravo better tag out quick; he's taken an awful lot of punishment in the last few minutes."

"He's been trying to, but the other team's been smart enough not to let him. Tatanka whips him into the ropes, and a third tomahawk chop to the face sends Bravo reeling. Now he gets thrown into the opposite ropes, Tatanka grabs the head, and whoa, slams it down hard to the mat; listen to them going crazy here! Tatanka going off the ropes himself...and look at that, Orton nails _him_ in the back of the head with his cast too; referee didn't see that either!"

"Well, I say give Orton credit; he came prepared for this one."

"He shouldn't have been allowed anywhere near the ring if he was going to keep using that cast as a weapon, and I hope his kid takes him to task for it afterwards! Dino Bravo stumbling to the ropes, and finally a tag to the Magnificent Muraco, who flexes his muscles confidently; looks like he's asking Fuji to open that bag he brought with him. Don Muraco oozing confidence, whips Tatanka hard into the corner, and here comes a big splash on him. And now a chokehold locked on; ref can't see it-wait, now he does, and he orders Muraco to let go. Muraco throws up his hands, feigning ignorance to the ref...and behind their backs, Orton choking Tatanka out with the turnbuckle rope; give me a break!"

"You see, these two work wonderfully together, Gorilla. If Fuji wanted to get a second tag team to complement the Orient Express, he ought to formally put Muraco and Orton together; they're practically a tag team these days anyway."

"A pair of miscreants is more like it. Muraco with a hard chop to Tatanka's face..."

"Now that's payback for all the chopping Tatanka did to Bravo earlier; this is a good example of teammates sticking up for each other."

"Oh really!? Snap suplex takes Tatanka down; Muraco walking over to Fuji, who's got...that looks like a meatball sandwich he's got there. And Muraco taking a bite; give me a break!"

"Well, if the man's hungry, might as well have a snack."

"Not during a match! And this is extremely disrespectful to Tatanka, by the way."

"Well, Tatanka could have brought along a bison burger or something if he was hungry; then they'd be even."

"Will you stop!? Muraco with a hard kick to Tatanka's chest, and another hard slap to the face-and now he's going over for another bite, and a swig of the soda it looks like Fuji brought too. Tatanka charging over, looks like he's going for a forearm smash...come on, Muraco turns and spits a mouthful of soda in his face!"

"Now you can't protest that, Gorilla; he did Tatanka no harm there."

"He blinded him for the moment; that's not harmless! Tatanka trying to wipe the soda out of his eyes, but Muraco grabs him by the hair and smashes his face several times into the turnbuckle. A low kick, and now a short clothesline takes the Native American Warrior down again, and Muraco over for another bite of the sandwich. Don Muraco chewing his impromptu meal, setting Tatanka up for a snap suplex-spot-on. Muraco kicking him contemptuously in the chest, and now he picks him up and starts turning him over; he's setting him up for a piledriver now..."

"Yep, the patented Muraco Hammer, which has finished an awful lot of men here in the WWF."

"Muraco pumping his fist excitedly, and there goes the piledriver. Muraco with the cover, but it's an awful nonchalant one-and Tatanka kicks out at two and a half. Muraco looking frustrated that the piledriver couldn't end this, throws Tatanka hard into the corner; now it's Tatanka's turn to have been in there a long time."

"Turn about's fair play, you know."

"There's nothing fair about being whipped by a guy who's so disrespectful of you, he has to eat and wrestle you at the same time. The sandwich now set down on the apron by Fuji, and Muraco setting Tatanka up for another pile-no, Tatanka with a shot to the chest, and now another, and another tomahawk chop sends Muraco reeling! Tatanka with a dropkick, sending the Magnificent One down, and here he goes towards his corner, trying to tag...and Kamala into the ring and jumps on his back, stopping him inches from the ropes. Referee right in Kamala's face, ordering him to get out...and behind his back, in comes Orton, and he and Muraco lift Tatanka up and give him a double backbreaker! Turn around, ref!"

"Hey, he don't have eyes in the back of his head, Gorilla; he's too busy trying to get Kamala out."

"Kamala not budging, still shouting at the referee in whatever his actual language is, and behind the referee's back, Bob Orton planting Tatanka on the top rope; he's setting him up for a superplex. Tatanka's teammates shouting for the referee to turn around and see that Orton's in the ring illegally, but no dice, as Tatanka gets superplexed hard to the canvas. Mr. Fuji waving for Muraco and Orton to bring Tatanka over, and the two of them dragging his head under the ropes-and Fuji nails him in the throat with his cane! Orton finally climbs out of the ring now, right as the ref finally gets Kamala out. Don Muraco oozing confidence, a hard chop to Tatanka's face, and another low kick! Referee warning him he's pressing his luck; Muraco appears to be blocking him out as he flings a dazed Tatanka into the ropes again, pins himself against the far ropes-and he kicks him right in the throat! Tatanka gasping for breath; the fans here heaping down a tremendous booing on Muraco for that dirty move...and as if it couldn't get dirtier, Muraco flips the fans the bird! We apologize to all you younger viewers for that, and assure you Don Muraco's personal beliefs do not represent the beliefs of the World Wrestling Federation..."

"Liar," Ventura coughed with no subtlety. Monsoon glared at him. "In the meantime, Muraco still going to work on Tatanka, kicking him hard on the back, and now a backbreaker, and a beauty. The Magnificent One with a scoop slam, and now going off the ropes himself...look out, he slipped on the sandwich!" he roared to be heard over the wildly laughing crowd in the Silverdome. For Muraco had failed to see his sandwich on the apron and had slipped on it, falling flat on his back, "Don Muraco just humiliated himself in front of at least ninety thousand people," Monsoon was fighting hard not to laughing himself, "And while he's down, Tatanka stumbling towards his corner; in comes Orton to try and cut him off-no dice, Tatanka tags the Superfly! Jimmy Snuka shoves Orton asides, storms towards Muraco, who's still stumbling trying to get to his feet, and jumps right on top of him. A very fresh Superfly whaling away on his longtime nemesis...and now he grabs the rest of the sandwich and shoves it down Muraco's throat; they're going crazy in here again!"

"This is terrible; this is utterly humiliating to Muraco! The ref should DQ Snuka's team right now for this!"

"For what? Snuka throws Muraco hard into the corner, and a big splash on him. Snuka up on his shoulders, punching away: three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Drops to his back and flips Muraco over his head, and now he's climbing up to the top rope. Superfly perched high above Muraco...down hard on the chest! Hooks the leg: one...in comes Bam Bam, and he leaps over Snuka...Snuka out of the way, and he lands on top of Muraco! Snuka tags Koko, and the Birdman going up to the top rope himself. He leaps, and down goes Muraco again! The Magnificent One getting more than a taste of his own medicine now-and Koko lifts him up and turns him over! He's setting him up for the Ghostbuster...from behind, Bravo plows into his back before he could deliver it! Muraco crawling to his corner, and the tag to Kamala..."

"Koko's in for it now; the Ugandan Headhunter's easily a match for him."

"We shall see. Ware going back to the top rope, measure Kamala and jumps..."

"...right into the big guy's arms," the Body snickered, "And here comes a big slam from Kamala-oh yeah!"

"Kamala with the cover: one, two...just missed. Kamala with another huge chop to Koko's back, now he picks him up-oh no, drops him throat-first on the ropes! Kamala kicking Koko hard, and there he throws him clean out of the ring. Kamala raising his hands in apparent victory; he hasn't won anything yet, though...and now he's staring intently at Frankie out on his perch outside the ring. Blassie shouting at him to go finish Koko, but the Ugandan Headhunter appears transfixed by the parrot...here he comes, and oh no, he snatches Frankie up! Kamala opening his mouth; he couldn't honestly be thinking of eating Frankie in front of ninety thousand people! Wait, Koko climbing back into the ring, he makes a quick tag to Razor Ramon, here they come, and a double dropkick makes Kamala let go of Frankie!"

"MORE double-teaming by these guys; they never know when to stop!"

"Koko B. Ware climbing out of the ring, calling Frankie over; his pet appears to be all right despite Kamala's manhandling of him. Koko looking relieved, setting Frankie back on his perch, while Razor Ramon whales away on Kamala in the ring. And now the Bad Guy going up to the top rope, and a diving chop staggers Kamala! Another dropkick sends him reeling into the ropes, and he's locked up in them; Razor Ramon with a kick to the chest..."

"Again, proving he can still be the real bad guy when he wants to; there's nothing sporting about this!"

"Freddie Blassie and Kim Chee freeing Kamala, who tags Dino Bravo in-and Bravo immediately suplexed by Ramon! Razor drops the elbow hard into his chest, and now tags in the Texas Tornado. Kerry von Erich off the ropes and hits the...no, Bravo rolls out of the way. He hauls the Tornado up and sets him up for a short clothesline...no, the Tornado reverses and slaps on the von Erich Claw! Fritz on his feet in the front row, clapping hard and urging his son on. Dino Bravo starting to sink to his knees...here comes Bam Bam into the ring...Kerry hears his teammates' cries and jumps out of the way, and Bam Bam collides with his partner! Kerry von Erich slams Bravo into Bigelow again, sending Bam Bam over the ropes and out of the ring, and now throws Bravo into the ropes...and nails him with the Tornado Punch! Dino Bravo crumples to the mat; Texas Tornado hooks the leg: one, two, three!"

The Silverdome erupted in cheers. "What a start here to Wrestlemania, as the Fabulous Fivesome high five in the middle of the ring; all of these guys have a good future ahead of them here in the WWF if they play their cards right," Monsoon declared grandly.

"They got lucky, that's all I have to say," Ventura muttered.

"Luck has nothing to do with it. Let's take a look at the replay; Bam Bam Bigelow's attempted interference backfires, and gives the Texas Tornado the chance to hit his finisher and end this match with a bang. Kerry climbing out of the ring and embracing a very happy Fritz; while the rest of his teammates go out to congratulate the fans as well..."

In the front row, Helen extended Dallas forwards towards Koko as he climbed out of the ring. "Mr. Ware, can I have your autograph?" he asked the Birdman, extending his program.

"You got it, little man," Koko eagerly took the boy's pen and signed his name. "And one from Frankie too," he lowered the parrot onto the page, where Frankie dug his claws into the page, leaving holes for an "autograph." "You guys want to sign too?" he called to his teammates.

"Sure thing, Koko," the Superfly called back. He and the rest of his teammates, excluding Ramon, who was signing autographs on the other side of the ring, bustled over and added their signatures to the program as well. "Take care, little guy," the Birdman rubbed Dallas's hair, then picked up Frankie's perch and led his teammates back towards their cart. "Good start, isn't it?" Helen rubbed her grandson's hair, "Maybe you'll get everyone else's autograph before the night's over."

"Well I don't want Jake's, not with him fighting Daddy and saying he's going to hurt him," Dallas confessed.

"Well, if you could trick him out of it somehow, maybe it'll be worth it, since I think Jake's autograph'll be worth a lot some day," Larry leaned over and smiled at the boy. The bell rang for the next match. "The following contest is scheduled for one fall," Finkel announced over loud country music on the sound system, "Coming down the aisle with his manager, the Roadie, from Music City, U.S.A., weighing 235 pounds, 'Double J' Jeff Jarrett!" "I think he has quite a bit of potential," the Axe remarked at the aspiring country music singer grandly strutting about his cart as it drew closer, "He's got that great Southern style in him, and I think he'll be a good contender for a belt some time soon."

"He has potential, yes, but I'm afraid I find him a bit weak, Larry," Stu shook his head softly, "Not enough toughness to go as far as he could. Now if he'd've come to me, I could have taken him down the Dungeon and..."

"Hey, hey, Jeff, I'm your biggest fan, how about an autograph?" Smith leaned halfway over the aisle with his own notepad.

"Make that his ONLY fan," Ellie rolled her eyes, more than noting the colossal boos Jarrett was getting. Jarrett nonetheless strutted over towards Smith. "Glad to know someone who appreciates me's here," he gushed, waving at the Roadie for a pen, "Ain't I great?"

"You're a hack, jack," the eldest Hart daughter mumbled in disgust under her breath. Jarrett either didn't hear her or ignored her. "And here you go, sir-sorry, I don't do kids," he waved Dallas off when the boy attempted to get his own autograph and strutted into the ring. "For the record, Smith, is someone who refuses a kid's autograph great!?" Ellie glared at him.

"Your problem is you can't appreciate true talent, Ellie," the oldest hart child shot back, "And in case you haven't heard, Bret isn't high on Diesel himself."

"He'd said that, yeah," Wayne nodded softly, "Then again, everyone deserves a fair chance, so let's see what he's got," he turned back to the aisle as the sound of a truck starting up bellowed out through the Silverdome, which erupted into cheers at the sight of the huge figure on the second cart emerging through the curtains to the announcement, "His opponent, from right here in Detroit, Michigan, weighing 317 pounds, here is Big Daddy Cool, Diesel!"

"Big support from the hometown crowd for Big Daddy Cool, who suffice to say has made an impression since arriving here in the WWF a little over a month ago," Monsoon leaned forward in his seat in anticipation as Diesel's cart skidded to a stop by the ring, "Diesel arriving here in the World Wrestling Federation at the urging of his good friends the Rockers, who of course will be going for the tag titles a little later on the evening, and has made a name for himself working thus far with his new best friend Razor Ramon..."

"Which don't amount to nothing until you actually have the title, Gorilla, don't you forget that," Ventura cut in sharply, "And for the record, Double J's been just as hot so far; undefeated here in the WWF, in fact. If you want to talk about great tandems, forget about Diesel and the Not-So Bad Guy, or even Michaels and Jannetty; Jeff Jarrett ought to consider teaming with the Honky Tonk Man; a great rock and roller with a great country music singer would make a great team."

"Highly unlikely, though, given how the Honky Tonk Man's still bent on regaining the Intercontinental championship..."

"Which, let's remind the hicks in the audience, Honky held for longer than anyone in history. And I think he and Double J could hold the tag belts just as long if they teamed up."

"That most assuredly remains to be seen. Diesel thrusting the fist high to the crowd as the bell rings; he had a grueling match with Doink the Clown just last week, but eventually defeated the trickster with his patented Jackknife powerbomb, and now looks to do the same to Double J. Jeff Jarrett raising his hand in the middle of the ring, inviting Diesel to a test of strength. Diesel looking a little hesitant, but slowly grabs hold. The two of them straining with each other...and look at that, Jarrett with a cheap shot kick to the chest!" Monsoon complained.

"What an idiot Big Daddy Cuckoo was there; the oldest trick in the book, and he fell for it hook, line, and sinker."

"Jeff Jarrett with a number of hard chops to Diesel's chest, but Diesel so big, they hardly seem to connect where he wants them too. Diesel nonetheless staggers backwards, left hanging halfway over the ropes-and here comes Jarrett from behind-down hard on the back. Double J looking supremely confident, hurls Diesel into the far ropes, grabs the...no, Diesel grabs the head and slams it down hard to the mat; listen to this place erupt!"

"Stupid mistake on Jarrett's part; you don't take your eyes off the other guy, period."

"And he's paying for it now; Big Daddy Cool charges forward and flattens the country music star with a big forearm smash, and now a second on the rebound. Diesel throws Jarrett hard into the corner, and now starts smashing him with the elbow over and over."

"Yeah, like THAT move really does much good."

"Reverse knife edge to the face, Jarrett thrown hard into the opposite corner, Diesel charges-and Jarrett out of the way in time. Double J with a blatant hair pull, trying to throw Diesel sideways, but Diesel digging in his heels, refusing to-and look at that, the Roadie bashes him in the back of the knee from behind, and down goes Diesel; referee did not see it!"

"And he can't call what he can't see."

"Jeff Jarrett twisting Diesel's leg backwards, in what might be an attempt to soften him up for an eventual Figure Four Leglock; Diesel grimacing but refusing to give in-and he's trying to crawl to the ropes. Jarrett pulling the other way...too late, Diesel's under the ropes, and he'll have to break the hold. Double J jumps on Big Daddy Cool's back, now a diving punch for good measure. Hauls him up, throws him into the ropes, and a flying shoulder block takes Diesel down. Jarrett hooks the leg; will this be a major upset...!?"

"Not yet, unfortunately," Ventura groaned as Diesel kicked out at the last second, "But Diesel apparently didn't come with a full tank to this match."

"Will you stop!? Double J strutting his stuff confidently, going up to the top rope, and here he comes-no, Diesel kicks him in the chest on the way down! Big Daddy Cool stumbling back to his feet..."

"Double J should try and keep him down; a seven foot guy's harder to work with standing up."

"Jeff Jarrett indeed jumping on Diesel's back, trying to...no he won't, Diesel throws himself backwards to break the hold, and a cover: one, two...no. Diesel with another burst of momentum, though, scooping Double J up and giving him a big slam. Throws him into the ropes, and the big boot to the face takes the country music singer down, and now a leg drop onto the chest as well. Nervous look on the Roadie's face outside the ring as we hear Diesel's hometown crowd cheering him on as one. More hometown favorites will in fact be in the next two matches with the appearances of George 'the Animal' Steele and the Steiner Brothers. Diesel whips Double J into the ropes and throws him high over his head. Jarrett grimacing, trying to get to the ropes, he's got a hold on the second rope-but Diesel grabs the legs and yanks him off. Slingshot coming up-and Double J hard into the turnbuckle. And now Diesel scoops him up in his arms-and there's a big sidewalk slam! They're blowing the roof off the Silverdome-and the cheer gets louder as Diesel pumps the fist; I think a Jackknife is imminent!"

"Wait, what's the Roadie doing?" Ventura frowned at his monitor, watching Jarrett's manager frantically waving at the rafter for some reason, "It's like he's signaling someone..."

"It may be too late anyway; Diesel with Jeff Jarrett's head between his legs; the Jackknife is...WHOA, WATCH OUT!" Monsoon's shout came too late, as a sandbag unexpectedly fell from the Silverdome's rafters and conked the referee on the head. Groaning, the referee slumped sideways over the ropes seconds before Diesel, who had his back to him and hadn't seen the sandbag, delivered a hard Jackknife to Jarrett and slid over him for the cover, then glanced around in surprise when there was no count. "Diesel thought he had this one won already; now he sees the referee out like a light on the ropes, heading over to...wait a minute, who's that coming down...heads up!" again Monsoon's warning was all for naught as a colorful blur repelled down into the ring on a bungee line and unhooked himself in midair, thus crashing down hard on Diesel. "It's Doink the Clown! What is he doing here; he's not even on the WrestleMania card tonight!?" the commentator demanded.

"He is now Gorilla," Ventura leaned forward in anticipation with an eager grin, "After Diesel humiliated him on Superstars last week, I was wondering if he'd go for payback."

"Doink the Clown kicking and punching Diesel hard-and look at this, he just pulled his leg off!" Monsoon exclaimed, "Doink with a prosthetic leg...and now he's beating Diesel with it; referee still out cold and seeing none of this!"

"Neither is Tunney, for that matter; he's too busy talking with the Roadie...and look at that wonderful clown go!" Ventura cracked up in laughter at the sight of Doink swinging the prosthetic foot into Diesel's rear end, "Doink swore he was going to kick Diesel's ass for humiliating him, and now he's doing just that!"

"PLEASE watch the language, Jesse! And this isn't funny at all!"

"Ah, go to hell Gorilla, I can laugh at what I want," the Body cracked up again as Doink started choking Diesel out with the leg.

"I find this degrading, especially since Doink has no business being even in the building! The referee still out of it, and the Roadie distracting Jack Tunney and blocking his view so he can't see what's going on in the ring..."

"Doesn't matter; Doink throws Diesel out of the ring..."

"Now what's he doing?" Monsoon frowned at his monitor as Doink placed a large plastic target on top of Diesel's head. The clown whistled up at the rafters, and moments later, a gigantic water balloon tumbled down and splattered over Diesel's head, followed moments later by an equally gigantic banana cream pie that also impacted right on the target. Ventura keeled backwards in his chair, laughing uncontrollably. Monsoon rolled his eyes in disgust at his partner's inability to control himself. "Diesel being put through the wringer here-and now Doink belting him with the bell as well. Doink rolls him back into the ring and hides out of Jack Tunney's sight around the far corner as the Roadie finally walks away from the WWF President and starts waking the ref up..."

"It's over, Diesel made...made the wrong enemy...enemy in Doink," Ventura struggled to say on the floor through his hysterics.

"Jeff Jarrett sliding over the wet and pied Diesel; the referee now sees the cover...oh no," Monsoon groaned as Jarrett got an unwarranted three count and the victory, "Jeff Jarrett officially victorious in this one, but it took that sadistic clown to get him the win...and now Doink leaping up into the ring and giving Diesel a beatdown! He had no business interfering in this match at all!"

"Give him the Stump Puller! I want to see the Stump Puller-and put him through the wringer some more!" Ventura snortingly urged the clown on.

"Jeff Jarrett joining in the unwarranted attack on...and what is this now!?" Monsoon's jaw dropped at a trio of midget clowns with the names DINK, WINK, and PINK written on back of their suits in large letters repelling down into the ring themselves, "Who are these people!?"

"Oh yeah, I love it!" Ventura clapped his hands eagerly as the midget clowns started pummeling Diesel themselves, "That's who he had working with him up there on the roof. And it's brilliant; Tunney told Doink after the Survivor Series he was forbidden to have any additional Doinks at ringside ever again, but he didn't say nothing about any midget clowns."

"Tunney is furious, up on the apron demanding all the clowns leave the ring immediately, but none of them listening-and the midgets are now biting Diesel's leg! They're all actually biting Diesel's leg! This is utterly disgraceful!"

"But it's hilarious, Gorilla, you can't argue that," the Body was fighting to keep from breaking out in laughter, "And now that the match is over, there's nothing Tunney can legally do about it."

"He can fine them all for...wait, who's that coming up the aisle...here comes Razor Ramon and the Rockers!" Monsoon exclaimed as Diesel's backstage friends rushed the ring, "They must have been watching backstage and couldn't take it anymore! The Bad Guy and the Rockers chase Double J and the clowns out the ring; Doink and the Roadie have probably got a serious tongue-lashing coming for what they just pulled here tonight."

"But again, it was hilarious..."

"Shawn Michaels helping Diesel up and raising Big Daddy Cool's hand. He may have lost the match, but he's got some good friends watching his back. A standing ovation for Diesel as he and his friends climb the ringposts for a final salute-although of course, the Rockers's shot at history will be here before we know it later tonight. And who knows where friendship will take these four after tonight..."

"Autographs for my grandson?" Helen called out to the four wrestlers as they left the ring, but none of them heard her before they walked up the aisle away from them. "Well, we're bound to have better luck later," she shrugged to Dallas.

"Can we get any of the next guys up?" he asked, checking his program, "They usually don't sign autographs, I've heard..."

"We'll have to see," she turned as the bell rang almost immediately for the next match once Diesel and his friends had disappeared behind the curtain. "The following contest is scheduled for one fall," came the next announcement, "Approaching the ringside area, from Harlem, New York, weighing 255 pounds, Bad News Brown!"

"He's looking angry, as usual," Ross remarked, staring at the angrily scowling Bad News atop his cart, "From what Bret's said, he's furious he hasn't gotten as much traction out of his career here so far, so he might be looking forward to take it out on Steele tonight."

"I heard worse from Bret; I heard he almost choked Tunney out and threatened to kill him if he didn't put him on the WrestleMania card," Wayne chimed in, "And since this was one of the last matches they announced having signed, I'd believe it-although if it's true, then this'll be his last match too."

"Especially if the Animal didn't get his rabies shots beforehand," Dean mumbled.

"Don't start with that, please!" Alison upbraided him, "George Steele may be eccentric, but he's not that kind of person...and he comes now," she held up her daughter for a closer look at the Animal's cart now coming into view to the announcement, "His opponent, accompanied by his manager, Captain Louis Albano, from right here in Detroit, weighing 288 pounds, George 'the Animal' Steele!"

"Well, it does at least make sense the Captain would want to manage him; he has experience with crazy people," Smith cracked, "He did well enough with the Wild Samoans, and they were practically insane-hey Steele, see this?" he called to the Animal, held his hot dog up tantalizingly in the wrestler's face, and tossed it to the other side of the aisle, "Fetch, boy."

"Smith, please," his father gestured sternly for him to sit down as Albano guided Steele into the ring. "Two hot and heavy fighters about to lock up in this one," Monsoon continued the commentary, "George Steele raising his arms rather obliquely to the audience; Bad News angrily shouting at him to get with the match already..."

"And I can't blame him, Monsoon; Bad News Brown wants to fight, and the Animal wants to goof off. It's easy to see who came prepared for this one."

"George Steele getting some last minute advice from the Captain, and now turning towards Bad News..."

"And look, he's actually BARKING at him, Gorilla! This guy is a mental case through and through!"

"There goes the bell, the Animal and Bad News lunge at each other, they're grappling hard, neither man seems to have the upper hand at first. Low blow knee by Bad News breaks that, and he shoves Steele flat on his back. Bad News off the ropes, drops the elbow...nobody home. Steele on top of him; they're rolling around on the floor in a test of strength..."

"And right there, Steele BIT him! He BIT him, Monsoon!" Ventura complained, "This is utterly unfair to Bad News Brown to have to stay in the ring with a lunatic like this!"

"Headbutt by Bad News, followed by a hard roundhouse right to the face. Brown back to him feet, kicks the Animal hard in the face, sends him for the ride into the ropes, and a big elbow smash sends him down again. Bad News off the ropes, and this time a leg drop does connect. Hooks the leg: one, two...no. Bad News throws the Animal into the corner hard; that scowl never seems to leave his face if you ask me..."

"Well why not, the whole world's against him; Tunney certainly never wanted him to succeed here in the WWF; that's why he's stuck in this junkyard match against the inferior Animal."

"Will you stop with your conspiracy theories!? Bad News Brown has no one to blame but himself and his own substandard track record for his lot in the WWF to date. Hard chops to Steele's throat now; he's risking the disqualification..."

"Yeah, I know, anything to toss this guy..."

"Well why not; blatant chokehold on the Animal now too. Referee warning him to stop...and Bad News shouts at him to get bent; THAT, Jesse, is why he hasn't gone farther in the WWF."

"Hey, not like the ref can't mind his own business for once..."

"WILL YOU STOP!? Vicious backbreaker by Bad News, who nonetheless has had all the offense so far in this one...and now he throws George Steele through the ropes and out of the ring. Bad News climbing up to the top rope, and here he comes, down hard on Steele. Worried look on the face of Captain Lou as he watches he man now having his face smashed into those steel ring barricades..."

"Shut your damn cakeholes!" Bad News shouted furiously at the fans in the front row booing him. When they refused, he angrily picked Steele up and tossed him roughly over the railing into the front row at his hecklers' feet. "Bad News inflicting even more pain on the Animal, and now he's climbing back into the ring, looking supremely confident," Monsoon noted, "George Steele stumbling around, trying to get back up..."

"Count's at four now, he's not going to make it, so Bad News might as well celebrate; an easy victory that hopefully will get him more respect here...what is the Captain doing here!?" Ventura demanded as the Animal's manager seized his arm and helped him back over the railing, "Albano has no business interfering like this!"

"Well, Jesse, he's only following what Fuji, the Roadie, and every other manager we've seen so far having done."

"I don't care; this is different, he's not...!"

"How is it different using that logic, Jesse!? George Steele sliding under the ropes at the count of eight..."

"This is a travesty; Albano should never have been allowed at ringside! Bad News is being cheated again out of a clear win!"

"He could still win if he earns it-but Bad News Brown with his back to the Animal, apparently thinking the match over...and Steele flattens him from behind with a clothesline! And now another from in front! Scoop slam, and now the tide has turned! Steele off the ropes, and a flying tackle takes Bad News down again...no comment, Jesse?"

"I'm on strike for the rest of this match to protest the blatant unfairness to Bad News, Gorilla, so no comment!"

"Have it your way. The Animal tearing open the turnbuckle cover and throwing the stuffing all over the place-throws it on Bad News when he tries to Pearl Harbor him from behind! Steele twisting the arm back, perhaps attempting to get a submission this way...no, thumb right in the eye by Bad News breaks that. Bad News Brown looking angrier than ever, series of brutal chops to the throat, now throws the Animal real hard into the corner. Bad News grabbing the ripped turnbuckle cover, advancing towards Steele...I think he's trying to choke him out with it! No, Steele rips it all the way through and...!"

"And now he SPIT on him, Gorilla!"

"No, that just looked like flying sweat to me...and I thought you were on strike, Jesse?"

"I am; I'm just pointing out one more unfair part of this match!"

"Another low blow by Bad News, shoves Steele into the far ropes, and a tremendous haymaker staggers the Animal, who stumbles right into Bad News's arms...and Bad News trying to lift him up; I think he's trying to set him up for the Ghetto Blaster...no, Steele grabbing hold of the top rope, and Bad News can't get him up into position! Bad News straining with all his might...look out, he loses his balance, and both men go over the top rope and out! Bad News even more furious, pummeling the Animal, but Steele punching back; both men trading hard punches, neither seems to be keeping track of the count, which is now up to five. Captain Lou shouting for his man to forget it and get back in the ring, but Steele still caught up brawling with Bad News, and the count now at eight...nine...and that's ten," Monsoon declared as the bell rang, followed by the decision: "Ladies and gentlemen, both men have been counted out." "Short but intense match for these two competitors...uh oh, Bad News livid, grabbing a steel chair...George Steele grabbing one too, and now they're trading blows with those! This one far from over, most certainly..."

"You bet, Gorilla," Ventura spoke up again, "Bad News gets cheated again..."

"Now how was he cheated, Jesse!? Honestly, how was he cheated when he failed to get back into the ring when he could have!?"

"AGAIN, if Captain Lou hadn't dragged Steele back into the ring when he was good and beaten, Bad News Brown would be the clear-cut winner here as he should be!"

"And how do you know George Steele wouldn't still have gotten back in on his own? The Animal continuing to trade chair shots with Bad News; WWF officials rushing in trying to get them separated..."

"Break it up, you two; it's over!" one of the officials shouted, trying to get between them, only to duck another chair swing by Bad News that just missed and clanged against the railing next to Angelo. Savage's father jumped briefly in surprise, then shook his head as the brawl continued back towards the locker room. "Some of these people just take everything too seriously in the ring," he admitted to his companions for the evening.

"Sometimes it seems that way. Anyway, Angelo my friend, it looks like Lanny's boys are up next against the Steiners," Larry looked at his program, "I think they have a pretty good chance here."

"Well, I'd say advantage, push," Angelo admitted hesitantly, "Looking at the Beverlies and the Steiners, it seems an even match, and even with Lanny in Beau and Blake's corner, there's still the matter of the Steiners' home field advantage here in Detroit. Still, the Beverlies may just have it; we'll just have to wait and see."

"Well, it's not much of a wait, Mr. Poffo; here they come now," Wayne pointed down the aisle to the next cart coming forward to the strains of the Beverlies' theme, and Finkel's announcement, "The following contest is a tag team match, scheduled for one fall. Coming down the aisle with their manager, 'the Genius' Lanny Poffo, from Shaker Heights, Ohio, at a total combined weight of 514 pounds, here are Beau and Blake; the Beverly Brothers!"

"I'll admit I do like their attire, Mr. Poffo," Georgia confessed, staring at the Beverlies' bright purple capes and shooting star-emblazoned tights, "But I also agree with what you said earlier about them being rather brutal and uncaring."

"Well, let's hope Lanny's managed to tone them down without losing their competitive edge; since he's managing, I'll be rooting for them against my judgment," Angelo turned to the aisle as the cart slid to a stop right next to his seat. "Dad, great to see you got a great seat!" Lanny, bedecked in a professor's suit and carrying a metal scroll, was beaming as he hopped down to give his father's hand a vigorous pumping, "We're making history tonight!"

"Hope so, Lanny; good luck," Angelo forced a smile, frowning at Beau and Blake Beverly as they trudged past him without looking at him. Lanny held the ropes for his men, who proudly and defiantly spread their capes wide inside the ring, then walked over to Finkel and whispered in his ear. "And now, ladies and gentlemen," the ring announcer declared, "A reading of some poetry by the Genius."

Lanny took the microphone and hefted his scroll. "Wrestlemania Day is here at last; the greatest sporting day of all," he read grandly off it, "Ninety thousand of us here and millions around the world have come and heeded the WWF's call. And greatest of all is I the Genius; the one who holds the key. So behold the wonder of the future tag team champs, Beau and Blake; the Brothers Beverly!"

"Not half bad," Stu mused, nodding, "I hear he's a bit of a pro at poetry, Angelo."

"He is, yes; it was part of his gimmick in ICW, although I don't know how well it might translate here in the WWF," Angelo turned back to the aisle at the sound of a tremendous cheer from the crowd triggered by the playing of the University of Michigan's fight song and Finkel's next announcement: "Their opponents, from right here in Detroit, Michigan, at a total combined weight of 533 pounds, here are Rick and Scott; the Steiner Brothers!"

"Listen to the ovation here for the Steiners; the crowd really giving the hometown boys a warm welcome!" Monsoon declared in amazement at the reaction.

"Well is it that, or is it because the Beverlies are from Ohio; we all know that up here in Michigan, they hate everybody from Ohio," Ventura queried.

"Nope, this is for real, I'm sure of it. Steiners now disembarking from the ring cart and greeting the people all around the ring-and now a hug to Mom and Dad and their sister..."

"Come on, this is a wrestling match, not a family reunion; get in the ring and let's get on with this!" Ventura complained.

"Will you stop!? Steiners in fact now climbing into the ring, a high five there with each other; the Beverlies shouting at them to stop wasting time and get the match going..."

"Well I can't blame them, Gorilla; time is money, even in the world of professional wrestling, and the Beverlies can't wait forever after they trained so hard for this match."

"There goes the bell, and it looks like it'll be Rick Steiner, once he finishes adjusting his headgear there, starting off against Blake Beverly. This will be the first of three straight matches with a competitor named Rick, as Rick Martel and Rick Rude will be participating in the next three contests scheduled on the card."

"And believe me, Gorilla, if the Steiners happen to get lucky here and pull the upset-which I'll admit I have my doubts about-it could be a three-peat for the Ricks. But the Beverly Brothers have more than shown themselves to be a team to be reckoned with so far here in the WWF, and it'll take everything the Steiners have to try and topple Beau and Blake. The Beverlies in fact remind me of an old favorite tag team of mine, the Minnesota Destruction Crew, tag champs for over a year in the territories. I wonder whatever happened to those guys?"

"Who knows? Rick Steiner overpowering Blake Beverly to start things off here, pushing him down to the mat and now slugging away at his chest. A lot on the line here, as the winner of this one will undoubtedly gain an inside track to get a title shot against whoever's holding the belts after tonight, be it the Rockers or the Mega Mercenaries."

"So therefore, you can bet both teams are going to do whatever it takes to win this one to get that higher ranking."

"Indeed, and right now, it's Rick Steiner with the edge, giving Blake Beverly a tremendous suplex in the middle of the ring. Rick off the ropes, goes airborne, and comes down hard on Blake's chest. A tag to Scott, who immediately heads up to the top rope; interesting strategy here. Blake trying to squirm away, but Scott comes down...right on his chest. Hooks the leg: one, two...Beau in to make the save. Scott hauls Blake up, whips him into the ropes, swings a...no, Blake blocks the punch-so Scott grabs the arm and twists it. Blake moaning in agony as Scott applies the pressure, trying to wear him down. Scott pressing hard-now pushes him away and jerks him back for a clothesline. Tag back to Rick; the older Steiner Brother whips Blake to the corner, charges in and elbows him in the head..."

"Blake's gotta tag; he's getting a beating in there now."

"Beau at the moment too far out of his brother's reach, and Blake now getting whipped into the opposite corner as well. The Genius Lanny Poffo shouting encouragement to his man, but so far, no good-and now Rick gives him a neckbreaker, and a beauty. Rick off the far ropes-and Beau kicks him in the back; give me a break!"

"Just looking out for his brother, Gorilla, same as you and I would if we had any."

"Blake stumbling towards his corner and finally a tag to Beau; Beau grabs Rick by the shoulder and shoves him backwards into the turnbuckle, rushes him-nobody home! Rick rushes across the ring and tags Scott in; we again take a look at the rest of the Steiner family there in the front row, anxiously watching all the action unfolding in the squared circle."

"Well they can't do a thing about it, since unlike the Genius, they're not licensed to be in the Steiners' corner."

"We're all very away of that, Jesse. Scott Steiner with a series of blows on Beau..."

"Now that has a nice ring to it, 'blows on Beau...'"

"Will you stop!? Don't start with all that nonsense the Brain does when I have to work with him! Scott sends Beau into the far ropes, set up for...whoa, Beau grabs the head and slams him down face first to the mat!"

"Scott made a cardinal mistake there; he dropped the head and took his eyes off Beau."

"Beau now joining his brother in the corner as the Genius draws up...uh, your guess at home as to what he's drawing up is as good as mine," Monsoon frowned at the hardcore mathematical diagram Lanny was drawing up on his scroll that was visible in a closeup on his monitor. Lanny held up the equation to his men, who nodded firmly. Beau strode back over to Scott, hauled him up just before he could get to his feet, dragged him towards the corner, where Blake was waiting with his foot up, and rammed Scott's head into his brother's boot. Beau then took Scott by the arm, hurled him into the far corner, grabbed his arm again, and flung him all the way across the ring back into Blake's boot a second time. "Beverly Brothers taking advantage here, and Scott looking rather dazed as Beau drapes him over the bottom rope-and starts jumping on his back; come on! A tag to Blake, who hoists Scott over his head...and look at this, Beau going up to the top rope; he can't legally do anything!"

"How do you know, Gorilla; the plan the Genius drew up might just be perfectly legal."

"You know how tag team matches work; Beau tagged out, so he cannot get back in until the next time he's tagged in-but here he comes down, smashing Scott flat to the mat!" Monsoon groaned in disgust, "Beau back out before the referee can realize what just happened; Blake with several hard chops to Scott's neck, now whips him into the ropes and down him with a dropkick. A cover: one, two...no. Blake with a backbreaker, goes off the ropes, and a hard punch to Scott's throat; he's risking a DQ here with those chops."

"So, they're not illegal per se, Gorilla."

"They can cause serious damage! Blake tagging his brother in; Beau lifting Scott up-and drops him throat-first on the ropes; this is getting ridiculous! Scott swinging back and connecting with a few roundhouse rights...uh oh, Genius up on the apron and doing cartwheels for whatever reason; referee yelling at him to stop it and get down...and Blake comes back in and helps Beau double-team Scott; give me a break! Blake back out before the referee turns around; Beau turns Scott over, and here comes a piledriver-yes. Rick trying to shout encouragement to his brother, but Scott taking an awful pounding here lately. Beau lifts him up in a bearhug, runs towards the ringpost, and rams his back hard into it. Scott looking dazed, stumbling along the ropes, trying to find his corner; Beau grabs him before he can get there, twisting his arms behind his back-and Scott with a kick to the chest to break it! Scott lunging for his corner...look at that, Blake runs over and decks Rick to prevent the tag!"

"Good alertness there by Blake; he saw their momentum was in danger of being lost and took the initiative."

"Beau back over on top of Scott, slamming his head into the mat repeatedly. Beau whips Scott into the far ropes-hang on, Blake's standing right behind him, they wouldn't dare to...Beau throws Scott airborne..."

"And there it is, the Shaker Heights Spike!" Ventura roared in delight as Blake grabbed the head of the flying Scott and spiked it down hard into the mat, "I love that move."

"He couldn't do it from outside the ring; that's completely against the rules! He was not tagged in!" Monsoon protested vehemently.

"Tough luck, Gorilla, and here's Beau with the cover: one, two...WHAT!?" the Body gasped in shock as Scott kicked out at the last possible moment, "How the hell did he survive that!? NOBODY survives the Shaker Heights Spike!"

"Both Beverlies looking stunned-and Scott takes down Beau with a leg sweep and pulls him into a small package! One, two...Blake in and breaks it up at the last second. You're right though, Jesse, that is the first time I saw anyone survive the Shaker Heights Spike here in the WWF."

"I don't know how Steiner did it; maybe he cheated or something..."

"Nope, it was a legitimate escape as far as I saw it. Beau being grabbed by the legs; I think Scott intends to...doesn't matter, Blake wallops him from behind-and Scott turns around and decks him down to the floor! Scott trying to get to the corner for the tag; Beau holding onto the legs for dear life to prevent the tag-no dice, and Rick's tagged in. Rick Steiner drops the elbow hard on the prone Beau Beverly, now drags him to the corner and smashes his head off the turnbuckle: two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Snap suplex takes Beau down, and Rick twisting the arm hard, trying to wear Beau down. Blake finally getting back up to the apron; Beau yanking Rick's headgear, trying to break his hold; Rick with a punch to the face to break that up. Rick whips Beau into the ropes, raises the leg-no, Beau grabs it and starts to twist it...and a double no, Rick with a swinging kick that connects with Beau's head and takes him down again! Rick with the cover: one, two...AGAIN Blake in to break up the tag; this is getting absurd-and Rick rams both Beverlies' heads together!"

"Now that was uncalled for, Gorilla; Blake wasn't doing nothing wrong!"

"What do you call interfering with the cover, as both Beverlies have been doing all through the match? Rick tags Scott back in; the younger Steiner grabs hold of Beau, who's now been in there an awful long time, and takes him down hard with a bulldog."

"Yeah, I think Beau better get out of there if he can."

"Irish whip sends Beau into the ropes; Scott into the far ropes-and there's the FrankenSteiner!" Monsoon roared as Scott seized Beau's head between the knees and wildly flipped him over, "That should end this one! One, two...NO! Somehow Beau Beverly survives the FrankenSteiner; that's the first time I've seen anyone survive that move either! What is happening here tonight?"

"Well as I've said for the longest time, Gorilla, the Beverly Brothers are a top notch team and should not be put down."

"Neither team's finisher has put the other away in this one-and look at that, Blake in with a cheap shot on Scott from behind! And here comes Rick, who nails Blake from behind in turn! All four men now going at it in there; the referee has lost control of this one."

"He definitely has; I hope he remembers which man's legal for each team."

"That of course is Beau and Scott, who are...hold on, what's this now; Blake yanking the Genius's scroll off him, he's running towards Scott, who isn't watching-look out, Blake nails Scott across the back of the head...but he got caught!" Monsoon shouted as the referee waved for the bell.

"Well maybe this one's on the Steiners for interfering; Rick threw a cheap shot on Blake too, you know," Ventura argued. Finkel, however, promptly announced the opposite decision: "Ladies and gentlemen, the winners of this bout, as the result of a disqualification, the Steiner Brothers!" "Hard-fought win for the Steiners here as they take in the applause from the hometown fans and their family there-look out, Beverlies with a Pearl Harbor job from behind!" Monsoon groaned, "Beverly Brothers proving to be sore losers, even though they have no one to blame for their loss but themselves for trying to introduce a foreign object into the match."

"I still can't believe the Shaker Heights Spike failed," Ventura grumbled, "The match should have been over then."

"But the fact is it wasn't. Let's look at the replay: Scott Steiner with the FrankenSteiner, which somehow Beau survives. Blake then cheap shots Scott, Rick runs in to protect his brother, and right there, Blake nails Scott with the Genius's scroll, but stupidly does it right in front of the ref, who promptly tosses the Beverlies. Both teams still going at it tooth and nail, and it looks like the Steiners are starting to get the upper hand as the brawl spills down the aisle and back towards the locker room..."

"Gentlemen, gentlemen, try and control yourselves; there'll be another time and another match with them!" Lanny shouted to the Beverlies, who kept slugging away at the Steiners in the aisle. The self-proclaimed Genius shrugged to his father in the front row. "Well, I still have a little work to do with them, but as you can see, they are coming quite nicely, Dad," he explained with what apparently was a straight face.

"Yes, Lanny, I can see that very well," Angelo mumbled, his hand over his face, "Maybe next time, ditch the scroll so they don't have a potential foreign object to introduce."

"Blake, Blake, don't bite the man!" Lanny protested, rushing to pull Blake off Rick. Angelo sighed deeply. "I think he should ditch them," he wearily told Larry and the Harts, "They're only going to drag him down."

"Oh well," Stu shrugged himself, taking a sip of soda, "At least it was a good match up till the point they decided to cheat with the scroll. Hopefully everything else on the card tonight'll be just as good..."


	3. Chapter 3

He

"Look, it's Hulk Hogan!" came the shout from across the concourse. Before Hulk knew it, he was besieged by a crowd of well-wishers. "Can I have your autograph, Mr. Hogan?" one woman asked eagerly.

"Me too, me too!" gushed another.

"One at a time, dudes, one at a time," Hulk said as calmly as he could manage, taking a pen off one of the crowd and seizing a piece of paper at random, on which he signed his name. More papers were thrust into his face. "This is the only down side to fame, Timmy; they're on you twenty-four/seven," he confessed to the boy.

"Attention all passengers, Continental Flight 184 to Detroit is now boarding at Gate Thirty-Three," came the announcement over the PA system; the door at the gate nearest where Hulk was sitting swung open. "Sorry, dudes, got to get going; important business to take care of," Hulk tried to explain, leading Marella, his doctor, and the Kanes towards the jetway. Despite security holding them back, the crowd still surged to the threshold, chanting his name. "Well, we're out of there and on our way," he mused out loud, "Hope it'll be smooth sailing all the way to Detroit."

* * *

"Sorry I took so long, I'm back," Bruce was breathing heavily as he plopped back down into his seat.

"Certainly took you long enough," Ellie glared at him, "I wouldn't have thought picking up a prize would take over _twenty minutes_."

"Uh, well, there was a lot of, uh, paperwork to fill out before I got the money, and then I had to, uh, run it out to the car," Bruce tried explained.

"Money? How much money?" Ross inquired with raised eyebrows.

"Enough to, uh, ensure I can keep Stampede going for a while," Bruce explained, "So I guess I lucked out in the end, I think."

"Maybe," Ross checked to make sure his parents were preoccupied elsewhere before leaning towards his brother and whispering sharply in his ear, "This wouldn't happen to be anything else illegal like forging Dad's name, would it, Bruce? Count me out of Stampede if it is."

"Uh..." Bruce turned pale. "Oh, look the next match is ready," he quickly pointed into the ring as the bell rang again. "The following contest is schedule for one fall," Finkel announced, "Now approaching the ring area, from Cocoa Beach, Florida, weighing 226 pounds, 'the Model' Rick Martel!"

"He really looks confident," Keith leaned forward in his seat, watching the Model get nearer and nearer, "But then again, he has been on a bit of a roll for the last month or so. Still, I'd say it looks pretty evenly matched between he and Mr. Santana."

"Are you kidding; he's going to wipe the floor with Santana," Smith snorted, "Martel's shown he was the better member of Strike Force, and finally he's going to get the chance to prove it."

"I'd have to disagree there; Santana looks like the more well-oiled wrestler, especially after he beat Martel with his own finisher at the Survivor Series," Angelo countered, "Plus he certainly is the more accomplished wrestler, having...yes, yes, Mr. Martel, I know," he grumbled as Martel flashed the large button attached to his tuxedo reading YES, I AM A MODEL in the wrestling legend's face before climbing into the ring, casually spraying his Arrogance atomizer into the air. "Rick Martel apparently purifying the ring before his former tag team partner arrives in a minute or two," Monsoon surmised from the broadcast position, "As you all at home can see, the Model is wearing on his cap the sacred eagle feathers previously belonging to Tatanka..."

"Well, I think they look better on Martel anyway, Gorilla," Ventura opined.

"And you think the way he got them was fair? Let's take a look at that footage right now," Monsoon turned to the monitor, where the relevant footage popped up, showing Martel sneaking towards the ring as Tatanka finished celebrating a win, spraying the Native American warrior in the face with a blast of Arrogance, blinding him, then bashing him repeatedly over the head with a steel chair before snatching Tatanka's eagle feather from ringside and running off with them. "Naturally, Tatanka wanted a shot at the Model for such a cowardly act tonight, but the match you're about to see was already signed at that point," Monsoon summed everything up, "However, Tito Santana has promised Tatanka that if he does win tonight, he will return the sacred eagle feathers to the Native American warrior..."

Backstage on his own cart, Tito glanced solemnly at the overhead monitors over the loading station, showing his former partner stroking the eagle feathers lovingly before causally slipping the cap onto the ringpost above his atomizer. "I wish it didn't have to come to this, Rick," he mumbled softly, regret filling his face, "I wish there was a world where we could still be the best of friends. But, those days are gone, and you need to learn your lesson. I promised Tatanka that much. Take me out, James," he instructed the elderly African-American man at the cart's controls.

"You got it, Mr. Santana," James threw the switch forward. The cart lurched ahead down the tunnel, breaking through the curtains as Tito's theme came up throughout the Silverdome, coupled with the announcement, "His opponent, from Tocula, Mexico, weighing 234 pounds, Tito Santana!"

"Arriba!" Tito proclaimed excitedly, pumping his fist in the air to a loud applause. "Take a look, Santana is ready to rock and roll, and I think the Model may be in over his head tonight," Monsoon said confidently.

"Well I think not; Martel has more than shown himself to be the better member of Strike Force; I guess tonight we'll see once and for all, though, who the heart and soul of the team was," Ventura predicted.

"Indeed I think we will. Santana hopping down off the cart, high-fiving all of the Hart Family there in the front row, and several other people along the ringside area before leaping into the ring. Martel shouting something at him; can't quite make out what. Santana glowering back, although I think I can see a little sadness on his face as well, remembering the good time he and Rick Martel used to have when Strike Force was on top of its game, and the two of them were tag team champions of the world."

"Well, those days are over now, Gorilla, and Chico better remember that, or Martel'll beat him awfully quick tonight."

There goes the bell; both men slowly advancing towards each other, caution on their faces...and look at that, Martel with a cheap shot low kick where it really hurts for no reason!" Monsoon complained, "The Model twists Santana's arm around and gives him another kick to the chest! Martel goes off the ropes, and a flying forearm smash sends Santana flying over the top rope and out!"

"I love it, Monsoon; since Chico used Martel's Boston Crab against him at the Survivor Series, it's only fair Martel use Chico's flying forearm smash against him here-what did Bobby say the name for that should be, the Flying Jalapeno?"

"Will you stop!? Santana trying to shake it off, gets back into the ring with the count at five-and Martel commences stomping on his hands. Rick Martel hefts his former tag team partner up, and there's a big body slam-and a cover: one, two...no."

"The problem there was, he didn't soften Chico up enough; he needs to be put through the wringer more before he's ready to be pinned."

"You are right there; it takes more than what he's been given so far to stop Tito Santana. And look at this, Santana reverses Martel's Irish whip attempt and locks himself up onto the shoulders! Martel swaying...and Santana has him down in a crucifix! One, two...just escaped there. But the tide has turned, and Santana with the advantage, hurling Martel into the corner hard. A series of hard chops to the Model's face..."

"Let me guess, Chico's doing that in honor of Tatanka; he's going into the tomahawk chop mode for his supposed friend."

"Well they ARE good friends backstage, Jesse, and it thus wouldn't be surprising at all if Tito's paying tribute in some way to Tatanka here. Santana aiming Martel for the other corner...no, Martel reverses...Santana reverses again...and the Model goes hard into the turnbuckle! Tito rushes-no, Martel out of the way in time."

"Good reflexes by the Model; now if I were him, I'd press the edge here."

"Martel yanking Tito back by the hair, setting up for a reverse knife edge, it looks like-yes indeed. Martel with a confident strut there around his former partner, and now he drops the elbow hard into his chest. Santana flung into the ropes-ducks under Martel's clothesline-ducks under it again...and both men wallop each other in the face, and they both go down!" he roared in excitement, "Santana and Martel lying flat on their backs in the middle of the ring; who'll get up first-and it looks like it's Santana, and he's over on the Model for a cover: one, two...Martel reverses, and now he's on top-holding the tights! One, two...close escape for Santana. Santana now with a kick to the face, flings Martel into the ropes-whoa, hurls him high in the air; that was an awful lot of altitude there for Martel."

"I might want to roll out of the ring and take a breather if I were Martel; don't let Chico overwhelm him."

"For the last time, Jesse, the name is TITO!"

"Like I said, Chico."

"TITO!"

"Oh, whatever."

Monsoon growled in frustration. "Santana now with the edge, sends Martel hard into the corner again, rushes-no, Martel out of the way in time. Martel hops up to the second rope, his feet locked around Santana's head; what're we going to see here...ouch, diving snap backwards to the mat by Martel; that had to hurt. Model now with a backbreaker, and a beauty."

"Yeah, that'll take the starch out of him. Now if I were Martel, I'd just pour it on."

"And it appears that's just what Martel's going, pounding away hard on his former partner's back. A kick to the face, and now Martel going up to the top rope; aerial tactics coming up-down hard on Santana's back. Hooks the leg: one, two...no; that arm was about to hit for the three."

"Martel shouldn't get discouraged; he has the advantage, and he should keep pressing it."

"Irish whip off the ropes, and a kick to the face sends Santana down again. The Model with another cocky strut, off the ropes himself, and down hard on top of Santana again. Another cover: one, two...and another last second escape. Martel glowering now, perhaps getting a little frustrated that he hasn't finished Santana yet; a few quick stomps into the groin area, and now it looks like a slingshot being set up-yes, Tito's face smashed hard into the turnbuckle-and now Martel smashing it into it again by hand: four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen; he's over the legal limit by now."

"Well you can't blame the man for getting somewhat overzealous with Chico, Gorilla; after all the years Chico tried to steal his spotlight, Martel wants to take the chance to show he was the better man."

"Martel now with a neckbreaker, and look, he's smiling now..."

"You know what that means; the Boston Crab is right around the corner."

"Martel in fact grabbing the legs, he's straining to turn Santana over...and he has him in the Boston Crab. Martel pouring on the Boston Crab; Santana moaning, but shaking his head when the referee asks him if he wants to quit..."

"Well Chico better; Martel ain't gonna let go until he does."

"Santana looking around for some manner of escape; it appears, yes, he's trying to crawl to the ropes, he's inching along, but Martel still giving the Boston Crab full steam. Santana straining, he's almost there-and now he's grabbing the ropes...and he's under them. Referee orders Martel to break the hold, but the Model shaking his head firmly; he's risking disqualification if he doesn't release him."

"He does need to be careful; can't let emotion get the better of him."

"Martel finally releasing the hold when, it appears, the ref did in fact threaten to disqualify him this instant. Model now looking very frustrated that he hasn't put Santana away yet..."

"It has been a strange night so far, Gorilla; nobody's finishers have worked so far."

"Well, the Tornado's did in the first match, if we recall. Martel with a blow to-no, Santana blocks the punch, blocks another, blocks another, and now flattens Martel with a hard right!" Monsoon roared as the arena exploded, "Tito Santana now with a second wind-and a big suplex of the Model! Santana going up to the top rope, let's see what's happening-Santana down hard on Martel's chest! Hooks the leg: one, two...no. A kick to Martel's chest, and now Santana sends him off the far ropes, and...Martel ducks under the attempted forearm smash, ducks under a second...and a third...and a fourth...but Santana connects the fifth time, and Martel goes flying out of the ring, knocking his Arrogance atomizer over with him!"

"I don't know how Chico survived everything he took, I really don't; it's rare anyone beats Martel's Boston Crab," Ventura shook his head in disgust. Monsoon opened his mouth to once again correct his partner on Tito's first name, but then shook his head and said nothing, apparently figuring it wasn't worth it. "Wait, what's this now?" he frowned, glancing outside the ring, "Martel grabbing hold of the atomizer, cradling it in his chest; meanwhile, Santana climbing up to the top rope directly above him, looks like he's going to lower the boom on him..."

But while Santana did jump with his fist raised high, Martel leaped upright with the atomizer in hand and gave his former tag team partner a sharp blast of Arrogance right in the eyes before he could make contact with the Model's face, the maneuver happening too quickly for the referee to see. "Santana appears like he's been blinded, stumbling aimlessly around the ring-and there he goes over the railing into the front row!" Monsoon gasped in shock, "A dirty move by Martel to save himself if there ever was one!"

"Well, when it comes to saving yourself in the ring, Gorilla, you do whatever it takes."

"Yes, yes, Jesse, I know how your mind works. Martel grinning cockily as he drags Santana out of the front row, now rams his face into the ringpost and rolls him into the ring. Martel going up to the top rope; this could be it-and the Model jumps and drives the knees hard into the chest of the blinded Santana. Martel hooks the leg: one, two, three; that's it."

"Arriba!" Martel shouted, mockingly thrusting his arm skywards in victory, in a parody of his former partner. The Model strutted over to his corner, picked up his cap, and plopped it back on his head, sniffing the Arrogance-sprayed feather warmly. Then he reached out of the ring, grabbed hold of the atomizer again, and proceeded to give Tito a liberal spraying of Arrogance. "This is ridiculous!" Monsoon complained, "Not only is the match over, but Santana can't see from earlier; the man needs medical assistance, not a spraying down!"

"Hold your water, Gorilla; here come the medics now; they'll take good care of Chico," Ventura pointed at the medical crews rushing hastily to ringside.

"Martel walking straight out the ring past the medics, showing no concern at all for the blinded man in the ring, and thrusting the atomizer in the air in victory as he's wheeled out of the Silverdome; what a disgrace!" Monsoon grumbled, "He may have won the match, but in my book, Tito Santana was still the best man in Strike Force."

"Now how can you say that with a straight face, Gorilla? Martel won; that means he was the better man."

"Oh really? Here's the replay: Martel with the atomizer in hand, blinding Santana right there with some Arrogance; referee did not see it..."

"Well, he can't call what he can't see, Gorilla."

"...and from there, the Model coldly taking advantage of Santana's incapacitation-wham, the knees right into the chest there! Medical crews now helping Tito Santana out of the ring; some of them are administering eyewash to him as we speak; we will keep you informed on his condition as more information becomes available. All right, now we'll take you backstage to Bruno Sammartino, who is with Rick Rude and company..."

* * *

"Finally, somebody essentially on our payroll wins," Don Vincenelli sighed in relief. "How much did we make out of that, Slick?" he asked his gambling chief.

"About a little over a million; at least everyone was favoring Martel in this one," Slick told him, "It's a little more evenly split in the next match, though."

"Well, at least Rude can go all out if he wants to," the don tapped his fingers together and lit up another cigarette, "When I take over, bloodbath matches like this'll be the new norm..."

* * *

"OK, Rick Rude, it seems you are ready to go into your match with the Big Boss Man, and then some," Sammartino frowned at the plethora of potential weapons Heenan was carrying for his man in the interview area, "But Sensational Sherri, how are you are part of this?" he also frowned at her, standing nearby and holding more potential weapons, "You're not in Rick Rude's corner..."

"Special dispensation-and all of us members of the Million Dollar Corporation stick together," she told him firmly, "Plus, I'd always do anything for the sexiest man alive," she leaned sensuously into Rude's shoulder.

"You know it, Baby," Rude grinned back at her.

"If I may get on point, Rick Rude, you do realize you essentially brought this match about by continuing to insult the Boss Man's mother even after he asked you not to?" Sammartino glared at him, "Do you feel you've taken this too far?"

"You can never go too far, Bruno, when you're simply stating a fact, and the fact is the Boss Man's mother is a fat, ugly hag," Rude stated unapologetically, "And if he can't take that fact well, well, I guess I'll just have to beat it into him."

"You tell him, pal; let's go teach him," Heenan pumped his fist excitedly and led Rude and Sherri towards the cart loading area. Sammartino shook his head in disgust. "And as I'm sure you remember, Heenan insisted on Prime Time he liked the Boss Man's mother, but apparently, all a charade," he muttered to the anchormen, "Let's go over to Gene Okerlund with the Big Boss Man."

Not far away, Okerlund had been holding up a hand to keep an incensed Boss Man from charging Rude. "All right, Big Boss Man, you just heard those incendiary comments by Rick Rude concerning your mother; do you consider he has gone too far this time?"

"You bet I do, Gene!" the Boss Man waved his nightstick into the camera, "If there's one thing in this life you're told to respect more than anything, it's your mother, and Rick Rude, you are nothing if you can't do that! Well, such disrespect comes with a price, and you're going to face some Cobb County justice to make you eat those words!"

"Any trepidation with the fact that this is a Bighouse Match, and that Rick Rude appears to be more than ready to use a whole arsenal of potential weapons against you in the ring?"

"He can use whatever he wants, but it won't do him any good, Gene! He's ticked me off, and the only answer to that is to serve hard time!" the former prison guard stormed off. "OK, the Big Boss Man is clearly more than ready to finish Rick Rude once and for all, no matter what it takes," Okerlund summarized, "Back to you for the call, Gorilla."

"Thanks, Gene; this one's going to be interesting, Jesse, with anything able to be legally used as a weapon," Monsoon told his partner.

"And I'd have to give the edge to Rude in this one; it looks like he came better prepared," Ventura predicted.

"And of course because he has a long history of using foreign objects when necessary; let's go down for the intros," Monsoon turned to the aisle as the familiar saxophone music started up to the announcement, "The following contest is scheduled for one fall, and is a Bighouse Match, with the stipulation that any object brought to ringside may be legally used as a weapon. And now, the participants: introducing first, to be accompanied to the ring by his manager, Bobby 'the Brain' Heenan, and for this special occasion by Sensational Queen Sherri, from Robbinsdale, Minnesota, weighing 251 pounds, 'Ravishing' Rick Rude!"

In the front row, Edna tightened up at the sight of Rude coming. "I've been waiting for this moment for a long time," she muttered to the Harts, "He pulls anything really dirty on my Raymond, and I'm taking matters into my own hands!"

"Sure lady, like they'll really let your son win if you do that," Dean snorted.

"You're pushing it, boy!" she warned him, "I'll only take so much from you!"

"OOh, I'm really scared," he whimpered in fake fright.

"You should be," she growled, waving a fist at him.

"Of course, before we have a match, we have to go through this pathetic ritual," Diana sighed as Rude snatched the microphone off Finkel in the ring. "Cut the music," he barked up at the sound booth, which obliged him. "What I would like to have right now," he ordered, scanning the record-breaking crowd, "Is for all you fat, ugly, Motor City motorheads to try and control yourselves while I take my robe off and show the ladies what a body a hundred times sexier than that of the Boss Man's mother looks like. Hit the music."

"Why you...!" Edna jerked up in her seat, enraged, forcing Bonnie and Diana to grab her by the shoulder to keep her from jumping over the railing-a task that got harder after Sherri removed Rude's robe to reveal Edna's face had been airbrushed onto his tights. "You'll pay for that one, boy!" she shouted at him as he swiveled his hips mockingly.

"Hey could you keep it down out there; my man needs to practice for his match!" Heenan shouted back at her as well, apparently not realizing who he was talking to. The Brain, however cast a wary eye at the aisle, and indeed gulped and jumped behind Rude once the sirens rang out and the second cart appeared with a furious, determined Boss Man perched at the front, a pile of police weaponry at his feet. "His opponent," Finkel continued, "from Cobb County, Georgia, weighing 305 pounds, the Big Boss Man!"

"That's my Raymond; go get him!" the former prison guard's mother encouraged him on. And indeed the Boss Man leaped over the front of the cart the moment it reached the end of the aisle and barreled full steam into the ring. "Look at this, Boss Man going right after Rude with the nightstick, and he bashes him clean in the back of the head!" Monsoon roared in approval.

"Oh sure, that's real good sportsmanship by the Boss Man there, jumping Rude before the bell even rung!" Ventura complained.

"You heard what Rude said only moments ago; he just couldn't resist one last insult to the Boss Man's mother, and now he's paying for it. Boss Man raining down blows on Rude with the nightstick as the bell rings; he is clearly a man on a mission-wait, from outside the ring, Heenan trips him, and the nightstick goes flying, and now Rude has it...!"

"Here we go; like I say, turnabout is fair play."

"Rude ramming the nightstick hard into the Boss Man's chest-and now he's hooking it around his throat and choking him out with it; come on ref, put a stop to this!"

"You know the rules for this one Gorilla, anything goes."

"Anything can be used, but I'd certainly hope the wrestlers would respect basic fairness. Rude merrily handing the nightstick to Heenan outside the ring..."

"There's a victory right there; he's got a trophy now for conquering the Boss Man."

"Will you stop!? Rude scoops the Boss Man up, and big body slam right there. Rude stomping on the chest, and now more hip swiveling with those mother-encrusted tights; give me a break!"

"I like them; nice originality there by Rude."

"Rude off the ropes, goes airborne, and lands hard on the Boss Man's head. Now he's waving at Sherri outside the ring, and out of the pile of weapons in her hand, she's giving him...a golf club."

"Why not; Rude's rather teed off with the Boss Man lately, if you get my drift, Gorilla."

"WILL YOU STOP!? Rude measuring the Boss Man with the 5-iron..."

"FORE!" Rude shouted mockingly before taking a wide swing and walloping the Boss Man hard in the face with the golf club. He then hooked it around the former prison guard's throat and choked him out it as well. "Rick Rude doing a number on the Boss Man's throat, and the match has barely started. Rude now jumping on the Boss Man's back...whoa, Boss Man jerks upwards and hits him where it really hurts!" Monsoon exclaimed, unable to suppress a smile as Rude stumbled around the ring in agony, "Boss Man now back to his feet, drags Rude over to the corner and starts smashing his head into the turnbuckle: three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Neckbreaker takes Rude down, and Boss Man now going outside the ring towards his cart-he's got a ball and chain, and he starts swinging it around over his head like a bola; Rude backpedaling like crazy when he sees it. Boss Man swings and misses with it..."

"Now I hope he's not planning on locking it to Rude's ankle during the match; that would be grounds for a DQ."

"Boss Man swinging and misses again; Rude bails out of the ring, and now a conference on the outside with Heenan and Sherri-and Boss Man leans over the ropes and rams their heads together!"

"Now there was no call for that at all; Rude was simply trying to have a discussion with his manager...!"

"Boss Man yanking Rude back into the ring-hang on, Rude takes a baseball bat off Sherri and swings it over his head-impact and the Boss Man staggers backwards-but Rude goes falling to the mats outside..."

"Well, he drove his point home at least-literally."

"Rude coming back into the ring with the bat, winds up-ooooooouuuch, hard hit on the Boss Man's back, but the bat does shatter. Rude tosses the splinters away, whips the Boss Man into the corner, and a big splash on him. Snap suplex, and a beauty-and a cover: one, two...just snuck out the back door there. Rude turning him over for a piledriver-yes. Now the Ravishing One going to the Boss Man's corner for the ball and chain, here he comes with it, and he's holding it over the Boss Man's...ooooooooooohh, drops it where it hurts!"

"Give Rude lots of credit here; he's been willing to use the Boss Man's own weapons against him so far."

"Look now at the woman at ringside that we've been told is in fact the Boss Man's mother, urging him to fight back as hard as he can. Rude driving his knees into her son's chest-and another cover: one, two...no. Rude waving Sherri over again; what's he going to take off her this time...?"

"Hockey stick," Ventura recognized it first, "Rick Rude paying tribute to the entire sports world so far in this match; I guess a tennis racket'll be his next choice of weapon."

"Rude with the hockey stick, measuring the Boss Man, and swings...no, Boss Man grabs it in midair! Boss Man back to his feet, tugging with Rude for control of the hockey stick-and he's got it! Boss Man delivering a hard blow with the hockey stick to Rude's face; Rude's lip appears to be bleeding as he stumbles backwards into the ropes. Boss Man takes hold of him, Irish whip into the far ropes, and the big boot to the face sends Rude down. Boss Man with the cover: one, two...Rude just gets out of there. Boss Man with a series of diving punches to the head, and now he's going outside the ring-and he's got a steel chair. Boss Man heading for-no, Sherri grabbing the chair from behind, trying to pull it away from him...but look out, the Boss Man's mother standing up in her seat behind her, she's taking a glass Coke bottle out of her purse...WHOA, she smashes the Queen over the head with it, and Sherri's down and out on the floor!"

"That was uncalled for; she had no business interfering in this match!"

"No more than Sherri has when she's not Rude's regular manager, mind you."

"Thanks, Ma," the Boss Man gave his mother a warm hug.

"Take it to him for me, Raymond...he's at twelve o'clock!" she pointed quickly behind him. The Boss Man turned and leaped aside just as Rude dove off the apron behind him, causing the Ravishing One to crash hard into the ring barriers instead. "Here," Edna dug into her purse again and pulled out a set of brass knuckles, "Give him these, Raymond!"

She pushed them into her son's hands. "You carry those around all the time?" Bonnie was wide-eyed.

"Do you see how it is in Cobb County these days; a girl has to do something to keep herself safe," Edna defended herself. "Yeah, yeah, again, again!" she urged the Boss Man on as he smashed Rude in his bleeding lip with the brass knuckles over and over again. "Rude cut wide open; Heenan is sweating-and now the Boss Man has the steel chair again...whoa!" Monsoon exclaimed as the former prison guard delivered a hard blow with the chair to Rude's head, "Rude is down and out!"

"But he's got to pin him to win, Gorilla, remember that one for sure."

"And indeed I do. Boss Man rolling Rude back into the ring, and now he's going up to the top rope. Let's see if he can finish him off here. Boss Man jumps...no, Rude rolls out of the way in time."

"Good alertness there by Rick Rude to save himself; if the Boss Man had hit that, it probably would have been over."

"Rude stumbling to his corner to get a breather-and Heenan now handing him a tire iron..."

"Shame, I was hoping he'd use a tennis racket to continue the sports theme from earlier."

"Rude with the tire iron, and now he's bashing the Boss Man over the head with it-and again, and again! Rick Rude with the upper hand again in this one-and now a swing into the Boss Man's throat too; come on! Rude off the ropes, jumps high, and comes down hard on the Boss Man's back. Rude hauling him up and twisting him around..."

"He's going for the Rude Awakening; this is going to do it..."

"Rude getting him into position...no, the Boss Man reverses it and decks Rude hard with a clothesline!" Monsoon roared, "And now he sends him into the far ropes...and there's the Boss Man Slam on Rude! The cover: one, two, he got him!"

"Uh oh...!" turning pale, Heenan started running for the aisle, but the Boss Man leaped out of the ring and cut him off. "Going somewhere, boy!" he shouted, picking the Brain up and slamming him hard to the mat, then yanking his nightstick out of the Brain's hands and walloping him hard over the head with it, "I'm not finished with you either!"

He dragged Heenan over towards his mother's seat, then dragged Rude out of the ring. "Shall we?" he asked her mischievously.

"Give 'em hell, Raymond," she gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"Hold his hands still," the Boss Man slipped Rude's hands through the ring barrier. Edna held them still while her son drew his handcuffs and locked them into place on his defeated foe's wrists. He then drew a second pair, locked one end on Heenan's right wrist, and the other to the top of the barrier. Then he picked up the ball and chain from his corner, dropped the ball on the far side of the barriers, threaded the chain through the slats, and locked it to the Brain's ankle. "That'll hold them good," he nodded.

"Hey, let me out of here!" Rude protested, yanking on his hands, which were now firmly stuck around the barriers.

"Not until I have my final words with you and Bobby Bozo here about calling me names!" Edna fished a pair of mace canisters out of her purse and proceeded to spray them in Rude's and Heenan's faces, as the crowd roared their approval over both men's screams. "Good thinking, Ma," the Boss Man commended her, "And now for the coup de grace! Kids, you might want to look away for this one, though," he informed the Hart children, whose parents obligingly covered their eyes as the Boss Man grabbed hold of Rude's tights and yanked them clean off. The Silverdome exploded with a roar. "Shut up, shut up!" the embarrassed and now nude Rude shouted up at them. "Bobby, get me out of here!" he protested to his manager.

"Love to, Rick, but I've got a little trouble of my own!" Heenan yanked hard on his handcuffed wrist-then shrieked himself as the Boss Man yanked his pants down as well. "Shut up, you humanoids, shut up!" the Brain bellowed at the laughing, jeering crowd, grimacing as the Boss Man delivered a parting nightstick shot to both Rude and he before climbing back aboard his cart and being towed away from the ring area, his nightstick held high in victory. "Somebody get us out of here!" Heenan shouted to anyone who cared. It proved moot, however, as he and Rude pulled on their wrists hard enough to yank the barrier loose. Both men toppled backwards to the floor, then stumbled around comically trying to get to their feet, which was no easy task with Heenan's ankle chained to the ball on the other side of the barrier. And once they were on their feet, they continued stumbling around, trying to go two different directions at once. The laughter at their predicament was almost deafening. "Martel, a little help here please!" the Brain begged Sherri as she finally came to from the Coke bottle blow. Sherri rolled her eyes in disgust at the sight of them. "Leave you two alone for five minutes...!" she muttered out loud, seizing hold of the barrier and dragging it down the aisle-and dragging Rude and Heenan along as well when they proved unable to keep their footing from the move. "Rick Rude and Bobby Heenan thoroughly embarrassed here tonight by the Big Boss Man and his mother, and I can only say," Monsoon wiped away tears of laughter, "That both of them got exactly what they deserved."

"So you condone everything the Boss Man's mother did to poor Rick Rude and Bobby Heenan in this match? I think security ought to throw her out of the building this very instant for interfering in the match!" Ventura grumbled.

"They insulted her first, and she got justice, along with her son. Chalk one head to head encounter to the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection in their matchups with the Million Dollar Corporation today at Wrestlemania, and much more of their rivalry is to come later in the event; coming up next, though, the tag team belts are on the line, with the Rockers aiming to take the gold off the Mega Mercenaries..."


	4. Chapter 4

"Just take it easy, there, Tito; we'll get you all back to normal," Bret told his teammate, gently holding him down as the doctors continued applying eyewash to him. "He will be OK, won't he, Doctor?" he asked the leading medic.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure, Mr. Hart; we were able to get to him quickly enough," the doctor nodded, "Give him about an hour, and his sight should be back to normal."

"Good," the Hitman breathed in relief.

"You know, I don't know why they don't just ban Martel from bringing that Arrogance sprayer to the ring," Steamboat complained on the other side of the operating table, "Even Jake's had medical problems from Arrogance."

"Well, this might be the last straw for Mr. Tunney; he might just lower the boom on Martel for this...Boss Man, good work," Bret commended the former prison guard as he entered the locker room with a satisfied expression.

"Oh yeah; I just loved the look on his face when Rude went nude!" Piper laughed hard in the corner.

"Yeah, that felt good; that felt real good," the Boss Man declared, swinging his nightstick deftly, "Now I can sleep better at night knowing Momma get her justice."

"Well, going by the program, the tag title match is next," Bret glanced at the clock on the wall, "So we've got to hope the Rockers have what it takes to beat the Sheik and Volkoff; otherwise, it'll all be in our hands to save the WWF..."

* * *

"All right, Shawn Michaels and Marty Jannetty, this is the moment you have been waiting so long for," Okerlund told the Rockers in the interview area, "In a few moments, you will be stepping in the ring to face the Mega Mercenaries for the tag team titles. Do you feel any hesitancy to face off with the champs?"

"Not at all, Gene; we all saw exactly how the Mega Mercenaries got the titles, using Freddie Blassie's cane behind the referee's back to defeat the Legion of Doom at the Royal Rumble. If that's what they have to do to win, then I predict this'll be a record match," Jannetty said with equal confidence as his partner.

"Absolutely, Marty; we've worked long and hard to get to this moment, and finally our dreams are going to become reality. The Rockers are rocking, and the worst of Iran and the Soviet Union can't stop us today," Michaels added. He and Jannetty high-fived and bustled to their cart. "You heard it right here, Gorilla; the Rockers are ready for action, and I have a strong feeling we just might see the tag titles come back here to the U.S.A. tonight," Okerlund said with a smile, "Back to you and Jesse for the call."

In the front row, Helen pulled a small American flag out of her purse. "Oh, I see you came prepared too," she smiled at Edna when the Boss Man's mother did the same, "I always root for the Americans when it's them against the world."

"Especially when it's against the Iranian and the Ruskie; I shudder to think they were actually allowed to keep the tag titles the way they got them," Edna snorted.

"Indeed. So let's hope Mr. Michaels and Mr. Jannetty can pull it off," Helen nodded, her expression now a bit confused, "I can't quite understand, though, why Bret doesn't quite seem as high on them as he is on some other tag teams."

"I think it might be something with Michaels, Mom; I can't guarantee anything, but I heard he had a run-in of some kind with him back when the Hart Foundation was still going," Keith theorized, "Have to ask him at some point."

"Well, here we go; let's see if the Rockers have it," Wayne pointed into the ring as Finkel hefted the microphone again. "The following contest is for the World Wrestling Federation tag team titles!" he declared loudly, "It is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, the challengers," he cracked a small smile as the electric guitars cranked up and the first cart zipped through the curtain, "at a total combined weight of 451 pounds, from San Antonio, Texas, here are Shawn Michaels and Marty Jannetty; the Rockers!"

"U.S.A.! U.S.A.!" in spite of her age, Helen stood up and shouted at the top of her lungs, waving her flag proudly. "Can't hear you, Mom," Smith grumbled, lowering his head, "And you're embarrassing us!"

"Embarrassing you, maybe, but I like that she's enjoying it," Georgia grumbled at him. "Rockers, Rockers, take them down!" she shouted at Michaels and Jannetty on the approaching cart.

"They are kind of attractive, yes," Alison grinned at the two of them as well, "If I wasn't married already..."

"Here we go; get your program ready again," Helen lifted Dallas up in anticipation again, although this proved unnecessary, as the Rockers went the opposite way around the ring to greet the fans before climbing in. "Oh well," she shrugged, lowering him back down into his seat, "Maybe when they're done and won it..."

"IF they win it, Mrs. Hart," Larry pointed out, "The Sheik and Volkoff aren't pushovers, after all. If I know Freddie Blassie, that devious mind of his will be working overtime to seal the deal here..."

* * *

"Could you get them to snap it here, Bruno; they're spending too much time admiring those damn pretty boys on camera!" Blassie snapped at Sammartino in the interview area, glaring at the prolonged footage of the Rockers romping around the ring on the overhead monitors.

"Don't snipe at me, I'm just the interviewer!" Sammartino snapped back at him, "You never could quit all those years...here we are, if you're happy," he hefted his microphone. "I'm here with the world champion Mega Mercenaries; Freddie Blassie, you're up against some tough competition here in the Rockers; any...?"

"Tough nothing; those two blasted rock and rollers are pushovers to the Iron Sheik and Nikolai Volkoff!" Blassie barked at him, "I'll tell you something, Bruno; I don't care how many people, you included, put my men down, we are the champions, and we will not bend to anyone without a fight!"

"Absoultely, Comrade Blassie!" Volkoff leaned into the microphone, "And you, Shawn Michaels and Marty Jannetty, you bourgeois American dogs, you will regret the day you signed tag title contract when you feel the full power of Mother Russia in ring now!" he threatened the Rockers.

"Yes, Nikolai; Russia, Number One; Iran, Number One; U.S.A. and Rockers, bah, phooey!" the Sheik spit on the floor.

"You tell them, boys; let's go beat them into dust!" Blassie bustled towards the ring cart waiting for them. "Now remember, don't let up in there; just keep pounding them like there's no tomorrow," he gave the Iranian and Russian a few final words of advice, "Lest you forget, Vincenelli's watching, and there'll be hell to pay if we choke up the titles."

"Not to worry, Comrade Blassie; Rockers are weak American nothings who will fold like papers when up against superior Soviet training," Volkoff boasted, flexing his muscles.

"I hope so. Here we go," Blassie grabbed the cart's hand railing as it lurched up the tunnel and into the Silverdome proper. Almost immediately, a barrage of garbage flew towards he and his men, accompanied by an almost deafening chorus of boos. "Their opponents, and champions," Finkel's voice rang out, "to be accompanied to the ring by their manager, 'Classy' Fred Blassie, at a total combined weight of 571 pounds, from Tehran, Iran, the Iron Sheik, and from Moscow in the Soviet Union, Nikolai Volkoff; the Mega Mercenaries!"

"Ah, shut up!" Blassie bellowed at the crowd, tossing some garbage back at them. He leaned against the cart's front ropes, trying to ignore the booing, but still flung some debris back at the more blatant hecklers until the cart coasted to a stop at ringside. He defiantly marched up the stairs to the ring and held the ropes for his men, who proudly waved the Iranian and Soviet flags high in the middle of the ring despite the loudness of the boos. Blassie then took his men's tag belts and handed them to the timekeeper while Volkoff whispered his usual request in Finkel's ear. "Ladies and gentlemen," the ring announcer mumbled with a roll of the eyes and more than a little disgust in his voice, "Mr. Volkoff requests that you all rise and respect his singing of the Soviet National Anthem."

"You heard him, on your feet, you pencil-neck geeks!" Blassie shouted into the microphone at the top of lungs to try and be heard clearly over the boos. He sided alongside the Russian as he took the Soviet flag from Volkoff and mumbled, "Make it quick this time, Nikolai; don't give these pencil-neck geeks more ammo than they already have against us."

Volkoff merely grunted as he snatched the microphone, placed his cap to his heart, and started singing the Soviet anthem defiantly at the top of his lungs. And went on singing straight into a second verse Blassie had never heard before. "OK Nikolai, that's good," he muttered loudly.

But Volkoff continued singing despite the tremendous boos, and oblivious to Michaels' and Jannetty's impatient expressions behind them. "Come on, Nikolai, we want to get the match started!" the Sheik growled at him. Volkoff held up a hand and instead went into a third verse...

...at which point the Rockers abruptly rushed he and the Sheik from behind and kicked them hard in the back, ending the anthem the hard way; the Sheik in fact went flying head over heels out of the ring, still clutching the Iranian flag, to a tremendous ovation from the Silverdome crowd. "Finally the song over, and clearly everyone appreciates Shawn Michaels and Marty Jannetty saving us from hearing the entire Soviet anthem," Monsoon was relieved himself.

"Yeah, I'll bet you'll condone those rotten tactics by the Rockers," Ventura shot back.

"Volkoff looking stunned as he's whipped off the ropes, flung high in the air by Jannetty, and spiked down by Michaels!" Monsoon ignored his partner, "Freddie Blassie swinging the Soviet flag at Jannetty, but Marty blocks it, whoa, kicks Blassie clean out of the ring, and now he and Shawn rip the Soviet flag apart; listen to this place go crazy!"

"Now that's no way to treat the man's flag, after Volkoff brought it all the way over here!"

"After what they're doing behind the Iron Curtain and in Afghanistan, I don't blame the Rockers for doing it-and look at this; Michaels and Jannetty both going up to the top rope, measuring Volkoff as he stumbles to his feet, still wearing his ring jacket..."

"Who's the legal man!? The Rockers do this all the time; I demand the referee determine who the legal man is!"

"Michaels and Jannetty both off the top ropes and down Volkoff again with a double flying dropkick!" Monsoon kept ignoring him, "Look at this, Jannetty sends Volkoff for the ride into the ropes, ducks down-and Michaels hits the Russian with a Superkick! And Volkoff is down again as the Sheik starts climbing back in-no, Marty nails him hard, and the Sheik falls back to the floor! Shawn on top of Volkoff for the cover, and here's the one, the two...THREE! THE ROCKERS ARE NEW TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS, AND THEY BEAT THE MEGA MERCENARIES IN LESS THAN A MINUTE TO GET THE BELTS!"

"What happened?" a dazed Volkoff sat up off the mat, "Did the match start yet?"

**"NIKOLAI YOU IDIOT!" **a livid Blassie barreled into the ring, brandishing his cane angrily. "I told you to shut up with the theme, you moron!" he roared at the Russian, shoving his way past the celebrating Rockers as Finkel proudly bellowed, "Ladies and gentlemen, the winners of this bout, and NEEEEEEEEEEWW World Wrestling Federation tag team champions, the Rockers!"

"Sorry, Comrade Blassie, but Momma was watching back in Moscow!" Volkoff gulped, slowly stumbling backwards, "I figured I'd do whole Soviet National Anthem in her honor!"

"We'll show you honor, you moron!" the Sheik, also fuming, charged at him brandishing the Iranian flag wildly. Volkoff frantically leaped out of the ring and ran like crazy for the aisle, his partner and manager hot on his heels. "Come back here Nikolai, you loudmouthed buffoon!" the Sheik could be heard roaring all the way to the second deck, apparently ignoring all the additional garbage being flung at the three of them, "How dare you cost us the gold over Mother...!"

"Nikolai Volkoff running for his life; there's really going to be hell to pay in Blassie's camp tonight," Monsoon was smiling outright in the broadcast position, "Meanwhile, nothing but joy on the faces of Shawn Michaels and Marty Jannetty as they climb the turnbuckle and thrust the WWF tag teams belts high; finally, after all this time, they've reached the top of the mountain."

"And why not; they back-jumped the Mega Mercenaries to get there!" Ventura complained.

"Volkoff was holding up the match singing the Soviet anthem too long; the Rockers simply remedied the situation by stopping the song, and Volkoff was unable to respond, and we have new tag team champions. Listen to the ovation the Rockers are getting here as they're carted out of the Silverdome, belts in hand; Shawn and Marty proudly saluting the crowd and the American flags now waving all around us, holding the belts high; these two are great Americans, and here's hoping they have a long and exciting reign as tag team champions..."

* * *

"Somebody make a note," Don Vincenelli muttered in disgust, his hand over his face, "We need to kick Volkoff out of the Million Dollar Corporation the next chance we get."

He jumped up and smashed his cocktail glass on the floor in frustration. "Just like that, Tunney's got the one-up on us!" he grumbled furiously, "And it's not just that they lost but how they lost..."

"If it hadn't ended so quickly, boss, we could have jumped in and done something," one of the goons with a machine gun by the window apologized.

"No need to be upset, Carlo; it wasn't you fault or anyone's fault," the don assured him, "But we need to double down for the remaining belt matches. Vinnie, Harvey," he snapped his fingers at a pair of boydguards and waved them close, then whispered, "I want the both of you to start casing the arena, and I want you to find..."

* * *

"Great work, Shawn and Marty," Hulk was smiling himself aboard the airplane as it zoomed smoothly through the atmosphere towards Detroit, watching the footage from Wrestlemania on the plane's overhead television sets, "Now we've just got to hope Ricky can handle the Intercontinental match later on."

He leaned backwards over his seat. "Feeling any better, Mr. Marella?" he asked the referee, who was having his blood pressure taken by his doctor.

"Sort of, Hulk," Marella was a bit more alert now, "As long as the doc here keep treating me, I think I'll be fine once we hit Detroit."

"You'll have to keep taking that anti-toxin medicine, though, Mr. Marella, so if we do get you to the Silverdome on time, let's hope the match doesn't go too long for you," the doctor reminded him, looking resigned to going on the quest against his better judgment.

"We'll do what we can, Doc. OK, then, Mr. Marella, tell me the whole story about what happened earlier," Hulk leaned forward, looking solemn now.

"Well Hulk," Marella took a deep breath, "it happened like this..."

* * *

"The following contest is scheduled for one fall," Finkel began introducing the next match, "Approaching the ring, accompanied by his manager, Bobby 'the Brain' Heenan, from Atlantic City, New Jersey, weighing 446 pounds, King Kong Bundy!"

"Look at the Brain; he's still handcuffed to part of the barrier!" Monsoon cracked up at the sight of the large section of metal hanging from Heenan's wrist no matter now much the embarrassed Brain tried to obstruct it from view.

"Yeah, you think that's real funny, don't you Gorilla?" Ventura glared at him, "Well it wasn't funny what the Boss Man did to the Brain, and I hope Tunney suspends the crap out of him for it."

"Heenan was making those same horrid remarks about the Boss Man's mother as Rick Rude, so they both got what they deserved," Monsoon said firmly, "Everyone still laughing at Bobby Heenan as he leads King Kong Bundy into the ring, and now we await his opponent..."

"HOOOOOOOOOOOO!" came the loud shout over the sound system, followed by Jim Duggan's familiar theme. "His opponent, to be accompanied to the ring by Sergeant Slaughter, from Glen Falls, New York, weighing 270 pounds, 'Hacksaw' Jim Duggan!" Finkel gave him a warm introduction.

"HOOOOOOOO!" the actual Duggan shouted on his ring cart, waving a large American flag proudly with one hand and thrusting his ever-present two by four high with the other. "Perfect timing for 'Hacksaw' Jim Duggan to make his entrance, right after the Rockers beat the Iron Sheik and Nikolai Volkoff for the tag titles; American flags waving everywhere in the Silverdome, and suffice to say, that makes both Hacksaw and Sergeant Slaughter feel right at home," Monsoon declared.

"Again, I'll reiterate for everyone at home, Gorilla, since I know you and McMahon love to castigate me as a monster: I have the deepest respect for my fellow veteran Sergeant Slaughter. If you've kept score at home, you'll know I never once in my career said a bad word about the man, because he served this great country of ours with pride in the Marines just as I did with the SEALs. My problem stems with the fact he'd want to bend down and help an empty-headed fool like Duggan, who disgraces true American patriots."

"Now how can you say that about someone like Jim Duggan, who loves America probably more than anyone else in this building?"

"Oh wake up, Gorilla; Duggan's an idiot, and the whole world knows it."

"Will you stop! A tremendous ovation in fact for Jim Duggan, who clearly is not considered an idiot by everyone here in the Silverdome. And standing proud beside him, his good friend Sergeant Slaughter, who yes, has served this country very well, and deserves a lot of credit for it. While his best wrestling days may be behind him now, Sarge has made it clear he intends to continue in an active role here in the World Wrestling Federation once he does retire. Slaughter now with a salute to Duggan as they step off the cart, and Hacksaw hands him his flag for safekeeping before he climbs into the ring..."

"U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.!" Duggan roared at the top of his lungs, pounding his two by four on the mat to get the crowd pumped up for the match. He then laid the block of wood in the corner and struck a defiant pose with his hands on his hips, gesturing with his head for Bundy to come over and fight. Bundy, pounding his fists eagerly into his palms, obligingly charged forward. "Both men lock up, and here we go," Monsoon leaned forward in his seat, "And it looks like King Kong Bundy has the upper hand early in this one, pressing down hard on Duggan's shoulders to force him down to his knees, and now a kick to Duggan's chest. Bundy hoists him up on the shoulder, and here comes a powerslam...yikes! A cover: one, two...no. Bundy drops the elbow on Duggan hard, now hauls him up, whips him into the corner, and charges...no, Duggan out of the way in time! And Hacksaw starts pounding Bundy's head into the turnbuckle..."

"Well at least with Bundy, Duggan can't pull the hair."

"Now when has Jim Duggan ever done that in the ring!? Duggan finishes with Bundy's head, whips Bundy into the ropes, and he's-oooooowww, he wanted to clothesline Bundy, but Bundy gave it to _him_ instead."

"Like I was saying, I don't know why Sarge is wasting his time on Duggan; I don't think there's anything inside that head of his but air."

"Sergeant Slaughter pacing back and forth in Duggan's corner, waving the American flag with one hand, clutching that whip of his close with the other. Slaughter's eyes zeroing in an Bobby Heenan in the other corner, making sure the Brain doesn't pull any dirty tricks here in this match."

"He wouldn't need to now the way everything's going; look at that, Bundy chops Duggan so hard on the throat, he goes flying flat on his..."

"Jim Duggan crawling out of the ring, trying to regroup," Monsoon cut in before Ventura could finish the sentence, making his partner glare at him in frustration, "He's now taking some advice from Sergeant Slaughter, who with all his ring experience is sure to have some strong pointers to offer him. The count is now at five, and Duggan in fact now getting into the ring again..."

"U.S.A.! U.S.A.!" Duggan shouted at the crowd again, prompting them to once more shout it back. "Let me guess, THAT was Duggan's entire strategy," Ventura snickered, "And let me ask this: why would he want to yell that all over and over during the match when Bundy's just as much a full-blooded American as he is?"

"Does Bundy do anything for this country? Hacksaw certainly does..."

"Maybe not, but what Bundy does do is headbutts, and Duggan's now taking one right on the empty noggin," Ventura laughed.

"Bundy with another headbutt, and now a blatant chokehold; he ought to know that's against the rules. But of course King Kong Bundy often has little if any regards for the rules; you of course remember, Jesse, at another Wrestlemania a few years back, Bundy was up against Hillbilly Jim, with each side having a pair of midgets, and the stipulation being it could only be big man against big man and little man against little man; I as much as the next person was just as appalled when Bundy picked up and slammed Little Beaver and then dropped the elbow on him, crippling him and ending his career."

"Well the little idiot deserved it for going after Bundy all the...whoa, Bundy shoves Duggan clean out of the ring; I love it!" the Body exclaimed.

"So far King Kong Bundy with all the offense in this one; Slaughter again trying to rally his man outside; Duggan nodding firmly and climbing back in again, only to be pounded hard on the back by Bundy. Bundy sends him into the far ropes, swings a...no, Duggan slides down under his legs, pushes Bundy into the ropes himself, and pulls him back down into a crucifix; one, two...almost got him."

"He had a bad cover there, Gorilla; perfect proof that Duggan's too dumb to understand basic wrestling fundamentals."

"Will you get serious!? Duggan throws Bundy into the corner, and now the big splash on him..."

"On top of that, he's stealing Bundy's finisher; Heenan should sue for plagiarism."

"WILL YOU STOP!? Hard chop to Bundy's face, Duggan up and slugging away: three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten; Bundy now looking dazed..."

"HOOOOOOOOOO!" Duggan bellowed out loud, hurling Bundy into the ropes and downing him with a dropkick. "HOOOOOOO!" he repeated, dropping into his familiar three point stance, measuring Bundy as he dazedly got to his feet, and barreled full steam at him, plowing so hard into Bundy's chest that his opponent went flying out of the ring. "U.S.A.! U.S.A.!" Duggan bellowed again, climbing up to the top rope and diving down on top of Bundy, nailing him with an axhandle. "The tide has shifted in this one, and now it's Hacksaw with the edge," Monsoon declared, "Duggan dragging Bundy along and smashes his face into the ring apron-but Bundy with a sucker punch to the chest, and now he's running around the ring. Duggan giving pursuit-wait a minute, the Brain's waiting around the corner there," he frowned at the monitor, "I don't know what he has planned, but Duggan's coming his way...and look at that, Heenan nails Duggan in the face with that piece of barrier he's still handcuffed to!" he complained.

"I love it; good thinking by the Brain to help his man," Ventura applauded on the air.

"King Kong Bundy back over, rolls the dazed Duggan into the ring, climbs in himself with the count at seven. Bundy takes hold of Duggan's arm, flings him hard into the corner, and starts backing up himself into the opposite corner..."

"This is the end for Duggan; he's about to get buried under an Atlantic City Avalanche."

"King Kong Bundy measures Hacksaw Duggan, and yes, here comes the Avalanche-bullseye! Duggan crumples to the mat, Bundy with the cover: one, two, three. King Kong Bundy the winner in this one, but he needed help to get the win."

"But you've got to give some credit to Bobby Heenan, Gorilla; come on out and say it, come on."

"No I won't, because he cheated for his man here. Let's look at the replay: Heenan with the blatant use of that piece of barricade to knock Duggan senseless, and from there, Bundy employing the Atlantic City Avalanche to crush Hacksaw completely. Bundy celebrating with the Brain in the ring...but wait, Duggan groping for his two by four in the corner, and now he's getting to his feet..."

"He'd better not do what I think he's going to do..."

"Duggan charges Bundy from behind and wham, nails him with the two by four in the back of the head!" Monsoon roared along with the rest of the Silverdome.

"That's terrible; I have never seen such a sore loser in all my years here in the WWF...!"

"As I just mentioned, Bundy and Heenan cheated to win, and thus, Jim Duggan has some justification in this...and he nails Bundy again, sending him through the ropes! And here comes Sergeant Slaughter on the outside, and he's now whacking Bundy and Heenan with his whip...!"

"Come on, Sarge, don't stoop to Duggan's level; you're better than that!" the Body pleaded with his fellow veteran.

"Duggan and Slaughter chasing Heenan and Bundy down the aisle with the two by four and whip; it's clear this one is far from over. And now Hacksaw and the Sarge stand alone..."

"HOOOOOOOOO!" Duggan shouted one last time as his theme came up again. He thrust the two by four high and paraded merrily around the ring, again bellowing, "U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.!" He smiled as he came to a stop in front of Helen. "I like the way you think, Mrs. Hart," he commended her, taking note of her handheld American flag.

"You're a nice young man, Mr. Duggan, and I appreciate how well you stand up for America," she commended him with a smile of her own, waving her flag softly, "My grandson here is collecting autographs tonight," she gestured Dallas forward with his program again, "Care to give him yours?"

"It would be a pleasure," Duggan took the boy's pen and signed his name in the program. "How about you, Sarge?" he asked Slaughter behind him.

"Anything for a relative of a true, red-blooded American, soldier," Slaughter cracked a small smile as he took the pen and also added his autograph to Dallas's collection. "At ease, son, and that's an order," he told the boy with a salute. "And for you, Mrs. Hart," he handed her his full-sized American flag, "Fly it high with pride, even in Canada. God bless America."

"God bless America," she held the flag up and saluted Slaughter, who nodded and led Duggan back to their cart. "Well, that went very well," Stu smiled, putting an arm around her.

"Indeed," she agreed, laying the flag between their seats, "Already this is shaping up to be a very good night."

"Looks like we're almost at the halfway point already," Wayne consulted his own program again, "Andre's final match is next; hope the big guy's taking the fact well right now..."

"Hold on, look at this," Ross pointed to the ring, where Tunney, who'd disappeared after the tag title match, was now back, waving for Finkel and the referee. The three of them had a conference in the corner for about two minutes, after which the announcer reentered the ring. "Ladies and gentlemen," he announced to the record crowd, "It is my privilege to relay the following information from our esteemed World Wrestling Federation President Jack Tunney, that there will be an additional match tonight on the Wrestlemania card, and it will begin right now!"

"Whoa," the Harts all exclaimed in unison as the Silverdome exploded in cheers around them. "Wonder what this is all about?" Wayne wondered out loud for all of them.

"I have an idea, son, given what's been going down the last few weeks; let's see who's going to be coming out first," Stu turned and craned his neck towards the curtain, right as a familiar hard rock theme kicked in, and the next cart came through the curtain into the arena. "This is a special six man match, scheduled for one fall," Finkel continued, "Introducing first, at a total combined weight of 1,002 pounds: accompanied by his manager, Dr. Harvey Whippleman, from West Memphis, Arkansas, Sycho Sid Justice; and, accompanied by their manager, Afa, from Samoa, Samu and Fatu, the Headshrinkers!"

"Aha, I thought so," the former Stampede promoter nodded. "And I'm willing to wager the farm it'll be Backlund and Men on a Mission on the other team," he told the rest of his row, "After Sid back-jumped and all but killed Backlund after his first match back from the Camel Clutch a few weeks ago, it was only natural they'd have a big showdown at some point, and since Bob still has some health concerns from what I hear, it makes sense to make it a six man match to take some pressure off him. So, the best thing would be to add into the mix two tag teams not originally slated for the card with a big feud of their own at the moment, and since that's Men on a Mission and the Headshrinkers, there's an instant match for us. Let's see if I'm right on that..."

Indeed, a familiar hip-hop tune rose up next, accompanied by the confirming announcement, "Their opponents, at a total combined weight of 1,011 pounds: accompanied by his manager, the Golden Boy Arnold Skaaland, from Princeton, Minnesota, Bob Backlund; and, accompanied by their manager, Oscar, from Harlem, New York, Mabel and Mo; Men on a Mission!"

"Good evening, Detroit!" Oscar shouted excitedly into his microphone as his team's cart zipped towards the room, "Everybody get up on your feet, and get the party going; come on, come on, come on, come on, yeah! Throw your hands in the air, and wave 'em like you just don't care! It's the WWF, Wrestlemania edition, and we're in the house...!"

"MEN ON A MISSION!" the enthused crowd roared back.

"You got it!" Oscar gave them all a thumbs-up, "It's time right now for the main event show, starring me, Arnold, Backlund, Mabel and Mo! Get ready for a fight; get set for demolition, because it's go time with...!"

"MEN ON A MISSION!"

"YEEEEEEEEAH, that's it! Everybody get up and get down!" Oscar waved his arms over his head as he hopped off the cart at ringside, "Get down, get down; let's rock thie whole town! Let's squeeze some smiles out of those frowns! Signitures, right? Well it's your lucky night," he happily took Dallas's extended program and signed his name to it, then handed it off to the rest of his team for their signitures as well. "There we go," Stu rubbed his grandson's hair once the team had finished, "Now you've really hit the jackpot; Bob Backlund's autograph'll be worth a lot some day as a long-reigning former world champion."

"Now my question is, Dad, why the last minute signing for this?" Georiga looked perplexed, "Couldn't they have waited till the next...?"

"I guess Sid went crazy as usual and cornered Tunney on it at some point, to let him finish what he started," Wayne shrugged.

"How do we know it was Sid? Bret said on the phone last week that he'd heard Backlund in a frenzy in Tunney's office, ranting and raving how he wanted Sid's head," Keith told him.

"That can't be right; Bob Backlund's not crazy, Keith; you saw him before Hogan became champ; he's as calm as they come," Georgia wasn't convinced.

"The real question is, why put Backlund back in the ring when he's hurt, rusty, over the hill in the first place-and willing to degrade himself like this," Smith looked repulsed at the sight of Backlund merrily dancing around in the ring with Men on a Mission, to the stern frowns of their impatient opponents.

"Oh come on, have a heart, Smith, this is fun," Alison held up baby Brooke to "dance" along with the music until the bell finally rang. "What a surprise here, out of nowhere a special six man match, and a sudden comeback for former WWF champion Bob Backlund. But that's another great example of how anything can happen here in the WWF at any time," Monsoon was still a bit amazed himself at the broadcast position, "We're going to try and get an interview with WWF President Jack Tunney at some point during this match for a full explanation on this one. And what a contrast between the teams here; on one side, the insane, anarchical Sycho Sid and the Headshrinkers, for whom no tactic is too cruel or severe, and on the other side, the fun-loving, charitable Men on a Mission and the gentlemanly Bob Backlund, epitome of grace during his tenure here with the World Wrestling Federation, and Jesse, it is a strong relief to see he's apparently fully healed now from the terrible injury he suffered at the hands of the Iron Sheik when he lost the WWF title over three years ago."

"Well, if you ask me, Gorilla, he's coming back too soon," Ventura opined, "Having faced Backlund for the WWF title a few times myself-and being swindled repeatedly, I may add-I have some respect for the man, contrary to what I'm sure you and McMahon think, and so I say the damage he took from the Iron Sheik's Camel Clutch was too severe to be back at this point, so I suspect he's..."

"Backlund in fact getting into the ring to start things off, and he's up against Samu-and a big arm drag takes the Samoan down right off the bat, and we've got a cover; is it going to be over already...!?"

"No it ain't," the Body cracked as Samu kicked out at the last second, "Neither Sid or the Headshrinkers go down that easy."

"To comment on your earlier point, Jesse, Bob Backlund more than showed he had great stamina by holding the WWF championship for five years, so coming back from this was probably comparatively simple regardless of the damage the Iron Sheik did; his training regiment has always been second to none. A look now at manager Arnold Skaaland, watching the action in the ring with a concerned expression, no doubt with his man's health on his mind..."

"And if Backlund does get in trouble this time, Gorilla, don't think Skaaland won't throw in the towel again. You know, for the record, Backlund never did actually submit to the Camel Clutch, so technically, that should mean Hogan was never champion in the first place-and that thought makes me feel better already after a rough beginning to this card..."

"Will you stop!? Hulk Hogan more than earned the WWF championship himself and probably would have eventually no matter what had gone down between then and now. And as for your complaints of being cheated in your own matches with Backlund, you lost fair and square each time Jesse, it's as simple as that."

"Sure, toe the party line, Gorilla-and for your information, now that we made it clear Hogan's run might not count..."

"Bob Backlund with a tremendous gutwrench suplex of Samu in the middle of the ring, and now he's twisting the arm hard," Monsoon ignored him, "Samu groaning in pain, straining for his corner, but his partners are well out of reach...I'm getting the word we do now have WWF President Jack Tunney available for an interview on this match; Mr. Tunney, what brought about the last second sanctioning of this encounter?"

"Well, Gorilla," in his ringside seat, Tunney turned towards the nearest handheld camera pointed at him, "Bob Backlund made it clear after the unwarranted attack on Superstars of Wrestling by Sid Justice a few weeks ago that he wanted this match with Sid tonight on the Wrestlemania card. Initially, I tried to dissuade him, but he became very adamant about facing Sid, to the point where he started throwing things around in my office. I might still have refused him, except Sid then came in as well about ten minutes after Bob had left, demanded the same thing, and then trashed my office himself. I told him I would think about it overnight and get back to he and Bob."

"What made you then in fact decide to give the go-ahead with this match, then?"

"Given how much the two of them wanted it, and because I wanted to make sure this Wrestlemania was the greatest athletic event in history, I figured, why not? So I had all the participants sign the contract a few minutes ago, with the firm wish they not go overboard in their feuds with each other."

"Was there any sizeable concern on your part for Bob Backlund's condition?"

"Of course there was concern, Gorilla; although he seemed to do well in his first few matches back over the last month, the last thing I wanted was to see him permanently crippled in this match. Thus, my decision to make this a six man match, and since the Headshrinkers and Men on a Mission had been lobbying for a match tonight as well, I decided to design the teams that way; they certainly were quite glad that, after missing the initial cut for the event, they are now wrestling tonight themselves. Oh, and Jesse, Hulk Hogan's reign is still official and always will be, regardless of how the title may have changed hands before it began."

"All right, thank you for your insight on this match, Mr. Tunney," Monsoon thanked him as Ventura growled in frustration next to him. "Well, sorry Jesse, but it looks like the Hulkster's still the former champ," he told his broadcast partner off.

"Wait and see, Gorilla; I can still have his reign vacated when I'm the WWF president..." Ventura muttered softly under his breath.

"What was that?"

"None of your business...and whoa yeah, Sid kicks Backlund in the back from outside the ring; I love it!" Ventura roared in approval at the act.

"Cheap shot move by the usually cheap Sid, allowing Samu to break out of the abdominal stretch the former champion had put him in and make a tag to his partner. Fatu with a hard left hook to Backlund's face; Bob swings and nails him in the head..."

"No one ever learns; you CANNOT harm the Headshrinkers with a blow to the head."

"Fatu with a headbutt to Backlund, and another one, and now he flings Backlund into the ropes and...no, Backlund grabs him around the head and gives him a bulldog! Another cover: one, two...diving save by Sid, who then slams Backlund's head to the mat. Furious look on Backlund's face as Sid's ushered back out, turns his attention back to Fatu, dishing out several blows to the back; Oscar trying to get the crowd into it outside the ring..."

"You know, you talk about people like Virgil having no business at ringside all the time, Gorilla; what business does Oscar have down there? That guy's more useless than the Federal Reserve."

"He's Mabel and Mo's manager; he's fully licensed to be in their corner."

"All he does is clap his hands and call for the crowd to get down-and did I mention I can't stand his intros for Mo and Mabel? And I thought Elizabeth was the most useless manager in..."

"Fatu whipped into the corner; Backlund charges in and nails him with the big splash. Now he rears back for a big punch-and Samu belts him in the back of the head from behind! Give me a break; they can't...hang on, what's this?" Monsoon frowned at his monitor as a furious Backlund suddenly let out a shrill yell and dragged Samu into the ring, "Backlund appears to be losing his cool-he's putting Samu into his patented Crossface Chickenwing, screeching like a chicken himself! What's happening here!?"

"Well for one thing, that idiot's lost his mind; he can't win the match if he doesn't apply the finisher to the legal man, and that's most definitely Fatu right now."

"This is unreal; the usually restrained Bob Backlund down on the mat, giving the Crossface Chickenwing full blast to a similarly shrieking Samu; referee shouting at him to let Samu go; Arnold Skaaland looking shocked and shouting at him to let go too. This is a sight I'd never thought I'd say; Bob Backlund being as psycho as Sid, and Sid himself looks as confused as...now Backlund letting Samu go, staring in shock at his hands; I don't know what just happened there, and something tells me he doesn't know either."

"Well whatever it was, Gorilla, I liked it. Backlund was always too bland, too goody-goody when I fought him; this could be a good new leaf for him to turn over."

"Will you stop!? Backlund still staring in shock at his hands, and does not see a recovering Fatu charging right at him, and a diving headbutt takes him down. Fatu hooks the leg: one, two...just avoided the three there. Another diving headbutt, and now Fatu tags in Sycho Sid Justice. Sid over in a flash and gives Backlund a contemptuous kick, hauls him over to the turnbuckle and starts smashing his face off it: three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen...he's well over the legal limit and still going...!"

"Well, they call him Sycho Sid for a reason, Gorilla, and this is it."

"Sid with a vicious neckbreaker, now picks him up...whoa, what a chokeslam! Backlund's eyes wide and rolling around as he's covered again: one, two...what a kickout! Sid goes flying halfway out of the ring; Backlund stumbling like mad to his corner, and uh oh, the tag to big Mabel! Mabel lumbering in; Sid doesn't see who he's going to...now he sees Mabel, and for once, Sid looks ill at ease. He nonetheless rushes straight on at Mabel...who lifts him clean off the ground and gives him one tremendous powerslam! The cover: one, two...just missed. Mabel drops the elbow as we get a look at an impatient Harvey Whippleman in Sid's corner, hoping his man can get with the program against that behemoth. Next to him, Afa grunting instructions to the Headshrinkers in Samoan between bites of the coconut he brought to ringside tonight. Afa of course dominant in years past in the tag division in the Wild Samoans, but the team disbanded before the first Wrestlemania, so this is his first taste of the big time tonight."

"And right now, he's got to be proud with how well the Headshrinkers are holding up on their own."

"We'll see if that remains the same from here on. Meantime, Mabel hurls Sid hard into the corner, rushes him-and misses, and Sid with the tag to Fatu. Fatu with a dropkick that staggers Mabel, and now another that sends the big guy tumbling into the ropes. Fatu rushes-and Mabel off the ropes to give HIM a dropkick, and Fatu is down! Mabel off the ropes again, and big diving splash, and the cover: one, two...no. Mabel sits down hard on Fatu, and now the tag to Mo. Mo going up to the top rope, measuring Fatu good, and here he comes-direct hit. Mo twisting the leg, trying to wear him down; Men on a Mission and the Headshrinkers have been having quite the heated battles the last few weeks, so it's understandable that Jack Tunney would have considered having them face off tonight at Wrestlemania, and I for one am glad they did manage to get on the card in the end."

"Well, I do agree with Tunney on one thing; this certainly will go down as the biggest night in the history of the sport."

"So far, certainly. Mo whips Fatu into the ropes, whoa, lot of verticality as he hurls him high over his head. Now Mo into the ropes himself...from behind, Sid grabs Whippleman's doctor's bag and bashes Mo in the head with it; referee did not see it!"

"And he certainly can't call what he can't see, Gorilla."

"Fatu tagging in his fellow Headshrinker; Samu with a particularly vicious headbutt on Mo right off the bat, followed by a low blow kick. Mo sent for the ride into the ropes, and now another kick to the chest, this one in a legal location, though. Dropkick drops Mo to the canvas, and Samu adds a diving punch as well. Mo swings one back and connects with the face..."

"And again, no harm done at all. They never learn..."

"Samu stomps on Mo's face, and now a tag to Sid, who's getting that crazy look on his face again. Sid rushes into the ring-a violent diving splash on Mo right off the bat, and now he's choking him out-choking him so hard he's shaking him. Referee warning him to let go at once, and Sid relinquishes the hold, only to throw Mo clean out of the ring; did you see that!?"

"Feel the power of Sid; this is why he rules the world," Ventura applauded the Sycho One.

"SID JUSTICE RULES THE WORLD! I'M THE REAL MAN ON A MISSION, A MISSION TO DESTROY THE ENTIRE WWF!" Sid bellowed maniacally into the nearest camera. He coldly jumped off the apron onto Mo before he could get up, then jumped up and down on his back repeatedly. "Sid losing his mind again, taking it to Mo and then some-and no he drops him throat-first on the barriers!" Monsoon grimaced at the action, "Mabel off the apron, coming around to try and help his partner, but Sid holding Mo in front of himself as a human shield, shouting that if Mabel takes one more step, he'll finish Mo's career for good. Mabel now freezing up, watching helplessly as his partner's thrown hard into the ringpost-and here comes both Headshrinkers off the apron with diving headbutts. Mo taking a shellacking here; Oscar trying to shout encouragement to his man, who's been positioned partially under the ropes...and look at this, Sid yanking back on his head against the ropes! Get the guys in the white suits; he's completely lost his mind!"

"To quote Don Adams, Gorilla, 'And, loving it.'"

"Will you stop!? Referee asking Mo if he wants to submit after this terrible hold; Mo shouting he won't through terrible agony; indeed, Backlund screaming to him across the ring not to surrender under any circumstances. Sid finally releases the hold, stomp to the chest-and now makes a slashing gesture across his throat..."

"He's going to give Mo the Powerbomb, and nobody-and I mean nobody, Gorilla-ever gets up from that."

"Sycho Sid Justice hefting Mo up over his shoulders; here comes the Powerbomb-and here comes Mabel, and he plows into Sid's chest, sending him toppling backwards, and Mo's got the shoulders down! One, two...Sid just escapes."

"That was terrible; what business did Mabel have interfering like that!?"

"You saw what Sid was threatening to do earlier on; good tag teams always stand up for each other. Sid finished for now, tags in Samu, who flings Mo into the corner while the referee herds Mabel out...and while his back's turned, Fatu chokes him out from behind; come on! Fatu now holding Mo in place for his partner, who rushed forward and nails Mo with the big splash, and now a gratuitous headbutt on top of that. Mo crumpling to the mat as Samu climbs up to the top rope; I think a diving headbutt's coming up. Samu measures Mo and leaps...and Mo rolls out of the way at the last minute! Mo stumbling towards his corner; Fatu rushes into try and keep him from...too late, Mabel's tagged back in! Fatu tries to backpedal, but here comes Mabel, who splashes him hard into his partner in the corner! Mabel sandwiching both Headshrinkers repeatedly into the corner, yanks Samu out and gives him a headbutt of his own."

"Again, no damage to the guy."

"But this will; Mabel lifts Samu high in the air, and here comes a running powerslam-yes! Listen to this place go bananas!"

"He's not going for the cover though; what's he doing?"

"Mabel off the ropes, and big splash down on Samu's chest, and now the cover: one, two...no; that hand was just about to hit for the three. Mabel up and sits down hard on Samu; here comes Fatu, but a big armdrag by the big guy takes him down, and Mabel hurls him over the top rope and out! Afa now running in too-and Mabel flattens him with a clothesline and, yes, he smashes the coconut over Afa's head! Mabel kicks the Headshrinkers' manager out of the ring, picks Samu up again; I think a piledriver's forthcoming-yes. Mabel done for the moment, and a tag to Backlund, who sends a dazed Samu into the ropes, and...hang on, Samu tagged Sid, I don't think Backlund saw it..."

"The ref did, though, so it's legal."

"Sid leaps over Samu on the rebound, and a diving tackle takes Backlund down! Sid punching away like there's no tomorrow on the former world champion, and now choking him out too, rather viciously..."

"Look, Gorilla, I think Backlund's starting to get that crazed look he had earlier in the match again," Ventura pointed at his monitor, "Something's going to happen again..."

"Sid, though, with a big slam of Backlund-now Whippleman shouting at his man from their corner; he's got that doctor's bag in hand again..."

"I love it; let's see what happens here."

"Sid rushes Backlund towards his...look out, Backlund reverses the momentum, and uh oh, Sid gets bashed with the bag instead!" Monsoon exclaimed over the roar of the crowd, "And look at Sid, he looks furious at his manager...!"

"Well that was an accident; he'd better not lose his cool here..."

"It's too late; Sid grabs Whippleman by the collar, demanding to know what the meaning of that was. Whippleman looking defiant, shouting back it wasn't his fault, that Sid was too clumsy; actually, hold the phone, he's calling Sid an outright idiot; now wait a minute, that's not fair to...what's this now?" he frowned at his own monitor," Backlund out of the ring, and he's getting a steel chair with a furious expression of his own. Arnold Skaaland waving his arms at him, begging him not to do it...and over at the timekeepers' table, Fatu getting a chair of his own...AND WHOA, IN THE RING SID NAILS WHIPPLEMAN WITH A CHOKESLAM, AND HE'S...YES, HE GIVES HIM A POWERBOMB TOO!" Monsoon roared with the crowd, "I think it's safe to say the two of them have just had a serious falling out here, and...and here comes Backlund with the chair, he's taking aim at Sid-and nails him from behind!"

"I'm liking this, Gorilla; Backlund should have done this years ago, let the anger out."

"Here comes Fatu with his chair behind Backlund-and here comes Men on a Mission to stop him-and Mo takes a chair shot to the face!" Monsoon grimaced, "Total chaos in here as the bell starts ringing; Backlund inexplicably continuing to hit the downed Sid with his chair, and the Headshrinkers and Men on a Mission brawling all-out with each other; I'm not sure what the official decision's going to be here..."

"If I were Tunney, Gorilla, I'm probably having second thoughts about letting this match go forward now; it's completely devolved into a total cluster-"

"Referee trying to get Backlund away from Sid, who frankly seems more like the victim in this case than the aggressor," Monsoon cut in quickly before his broadcast partner could deliver the curse word, "And let's get the official decision from Howard..."

"Ladies and gentlemen," Finkel declared loudly to the Silverdome, "The referee has disqualified both teams for illegal use of foreign objects."

"Look at Backlund; he looks possessed," the Body pointed to the former champion, "He's yelling at Howard, 'I won, I beat Sid fair; look at him, he's down and out...!'"

"Something not right here at all; this isn't the Bob Backlund I knew all these years. He would never...look at this, he's putting Sid into the Crossface Chickenwing!" he gasped as a crazed Backlund abruptly clamped the finisher on his dazed foe, despite the fact the bell continued to ring repeatedly, "What is he doing; the match is over! I never thought I'd see the day I'd feel sorry for Sycho Sid...!"

"And I never thought I'd see the day Backlund would finally stop being weak and spineless; good job, Bobby, you've finally become a man," Ventura openly applauded on the air.

"I can't believe you could condone...Arnold Skaaland looking panicked, prying his man away from Sid, demanding to know what in the world Backlund's doing. Backlund looking no less crazed, looks like he's shouting that...LOOK AT THIS, BOB BACKLUND CLAMPS THE CROSSFACE CHICKENWING ON HIS OWN MANAGER!" he gasped in horror, "BACKLUND'S GONE INSANE, LOOKS LIKE HE'S SHOUTING AT SKAALAND THAT HE RUINED HIS CAREER, THAT HE NEVER SUBMITTED TO THE IRON SHEIK AND THAT HE'S STILL THE WWF CHAMPION; SKAALAND SHRIEKING IN AGONY FROM THE HOLD...!"

"See, Gorilla, I had a point earlier, and you never gave me credit," Ventura shoved a finger in his face, "Skaaland's had this coming for a long time; he's held Backlund back for years."

"He did not, Jesse, and I don't know why Backlund's going off the deep end now like this! Backlund rolling on the floor, laughing maniacally, still applying the Crossface Chickenwing to Arnold Skaaland full blast; a stream of WWF officials running down to ringside, trying to protect Skaaland..."

"Hey, I'd worry more about Whippleman, he's still out cold from Sid's Powerbomb. And look at Men on a Mission; they're horrified at what's going on now..."

"Oscar looking utterly stunned at what Backlund's doing-looks like he's waving the equally stunned Mabel and Mo out of there. Men on a Mission leaving the ring; they want no part of Backlund's assault on Arnold Skaaland. Meanwhile, Sid slowly getting to his feet, he turns, and now he sees what's going on behind him. WWF officials trying to get Backlund away from Skaaland, but Bob still not letting go of the Crossface Chickenwing...BUT LOOK AT THIS, SID GRABS THE CHAIR AND STARTS BASHING BACKLUND WITH IT! HOLY MOLY, WHAT AN INCREDIBLE TURN OF EVENTS THIS IS; THE CROWD'S NOW CHEERING SID TO TAKE OUT BACKLUND!"

"Has he lost his mind now too!? Don't stop him, you fool; Skaaland deserves this!" Ventura lambasted Sid.

"Backlund screaming at him to mind his own business-and now slaps the Crossface Chickenwing on Sid! Backlund screeching like there's no tomorrow, having completely lost his marbles for whatever reason-but look at this, Sid breaks the hold, and now Powerbombs Backlund! And now he picks him up and gives him another one, and he's getting a tremendous cheer for it! What an incredible turn of events here!"

"And look at the Headshrinkers in the corner; they don't know what's going on or who to support," the Body pointed, "And I'm just as confused as everyone else, Gorilla: since everyone in wrestling seems to want to divide the wrestlers into 'good guys' and 'bad guys'-and even though it's clear you and I have different opinions on what constitutes which side-you tell me who the good guy and who the bad guy is here, because I have no idea right now."

"The fans are making it quite clear who they think the good guy is; they're giving Sid Justice a major ovation as he delivers a third Powerbomb to Bob Backlund," Monsoon held up his headset to catch the applause, "WWF officials swarming over, they're now carrying off the still raving Bob Backlund, who appears to be screaming that he wants an immediate title shot, that he is still the WWF champion and wants to defend it; it's clear he's going to need psychiatric help first and foremost, though."

"Well, the doctors better make it quick; this guy deserves a shot to officially regain his crown that the Iron Sheik thought he took and that Hogan kept from him..."

"WILL YOU STOP!? Medics now attending to Arnold Skaaland, whom we hope was not severely injured by that unwarranted attack-and speaking of which, the Headshrinkers and Afa trying to sneak up on Sid from behind...no, he turns and chokeslams both Samu and Fatu at once-and now a Powerbomb to Afa as well! The Headshrinkers and Harvey Whippleman lying groaning on the mat here in Detroit, and it's quite clear to me that despite the roughness of those moves, Sid Justice is no long a 'bad guy.'"

"You mean just like Razor Ramon isn't even though he still insists on calling himself one?"

"Don't start with that again! Sid Justice getting another big ovation for coming to Arnold Skaaland's defense, and maybe, just maybe, he may get a new shot at life here in the WWF for such a good deed. This one again ending in a double DQ, but both teams gave it their all before everything went wild and crazy in this one, which I suspect is far from finished as far as Sid Justice and Bob Backlund are concerned."

"You know it, Gorilla, and because Sid has no backbone, I'm going to support Bob in this one."

"You can support whoever you want, but you'll be in the minority there. Speaking of big ovations like the one Sid's now getting, there's bound to be an even bigger one coming next in what will be the final match of Andre the Giant's illustrious career..."


	5. Chapter 5

"Are you ready, Andre?" Elizabeth stuck her head around the lockers to see the Giant sitting on the bench facing the wall, staring mutely ahead into space, "Andre...?"

"I'm ready, Elizabeth; ready as I'll ever be," Andre slowly rose up, wiping tears from his eyes, "I never thought the ride would end, though. You get into the ring, you start a good career, and you think it's going to last forever, that you'll never stop going...and now, it's the end of the road...I don't want it to be the end, not yet..."

"Well, you remember exactly what the doctor said, Andre; any more severe damage to the leg, and it might end up useless," she slipped an arm around him, "I don't want to see you crippled; no one does. But look at all the good you did for all the fans over the last twenty years; Hulk may have been the champion, but you were the heart and soul of the sport. And even when you're retired, I think you always will be."

Andre managed a small smile. "I'm going to miss the fans," he mused, "Miss putting on a terrific show; miss the cheers when I win. Maybe the doctor's right, and I need to stop before something goes wrong. But I still have business to take care of before I go, and that's giving Earthquake and Studd what they've had coming for a long time."

"OK, big guy, it's time," the rotund face of Captain Lou Albano slipped in the door, Tugboat's head above him.

"Coming, Captain Lou," Andre walked slowly towards the door. "Wish me luck," he turned to Elizabeth again before he left.

"Give them one more terrific match they'll remember for years to come, Andre," she gave him a parting thumbs-up, "You deserve it."

* * *

"I'm here now with Earthquake and Big John Studd, who apparently is going to be managed tonight by Freddie Blassie," Sammartino frowned at the Classy One in the interview area, "Is something going on here like chicanery that Bobby Heenan couldn't...?"

"Bobby had some business to take care of, related to the rubbish the Big Boss Man pulled on him earlier, Bruno you pencil-neck geek," Blassie cut him off roughly, "So, he asked me to fill in for him with Johnny here, which of course is no problem for me given our prior relationship over the years. Besides," he glared hard into the camera, "I've been waiting to settle the score with that traitor Lou Albano for a long time now, and I dedicate the performance of my guys in this match tonight to my dear departed pal the Grand Wizard, who didn't stab the sport of wrestling in the back, not like Albano."

"So you're saying Captain Lou is fair game in this match too?" Sammartino glared at him in turn.

"Damn right he is," Blassie barked unapologetically, "He tries anything, Johnny and Earthquake will crush him just as badly as they'll crush Andre and Tugboat."

"Andre the Giant, it's your final match, and I'm going to give you a going away present you'll never forget-as many broken bones as I can manage!" Earthquake roared into the camera, stomping from side to side, "What I did in the Funeral Parlor to your leg was just the beginning; tonight, I'm finishing the job, and not only will you be carried out on a stretcher like everyone else foolish enough to get into the ring with the Earthquake, but all the king's horses and all the king's men won't be able to put you back together again! And Tugboat, you try and stop me, and you will get the full on ten on the Richter Scale, and it'll be the end of your wrestling career!"

"You tell him, Quake baby; they haven't got anything on you and John Studd!" Jimmy commended his man, "They may be calling this match the Clash of the Titans, but it's going to be the Crash of the Failures once we get through beating up the other side!"

He laughed wildly. "And whatever Earthquake here can't accomplish, I'll finish!" Studd declared, "If you're listening to this, Andre-a the So-Called Giant, I stand by what I said all those years ago; I AM the REAL Giant in professional wrestling, and tonight, I'm going to prove it once and for all!"

"You tell him, Johnny. Let's go, boys!" Blassie waved everyone towards the carts. "Well, Gorilla, suffice to say, we have four very sick and twisted people making their way to ringside right now," Sammartino shook his head in disgust into the camera, "Be glad you're up at the broadcast position and don't have to deal with them directly. Back to you and Jesse."

Monsoon was also shaking his head in disgust at the broadcast position. "Tough threats by Big John Studd and Earthquake; clearly they're bent on making Andre's retirement a painful one," he mumbled to Ventura.

"And I think they just might, so Andre might have made a mistake making this his farewell match," the Body theorized.

"We shall see in due time. Let's go down to Howard for the introductions," Monsoon turned back to the ring as the "Quake Shake" started rumbling over the loudspeakers. "The following is a tag team contest, scheduled for one fall," Finkel told the crowd, "Introducing first, team number one: at a total combined weight of 832 pounds; accompanied by his former manager, 'Classy' Fred Blassie, from Los Angeles, Big John Studd! And, accompanied by his current manager, the Mouth of the South, Jimmy Hart, from Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada, the Earthquake!"

"Freddie Blassie filling in for the Brain in this one as we just saw, I presume while they attempt to finally get him out of the handcuffs," Monsoon surmised, "Of course, as we can recall, Big John Studd previously worked with Blassie before joining the Heenan Family, so this is a natural transition for him."

"Absolutely, Gorilla; there'll be no break in Studd's regiment through this."

"Just look at the size of these guys together-and the amazing part is, I believe Andre and Tugboat are going to be even bigger."

"Not by much though-and there's no denying Studd and Earthquake are going to give the Giant the fight of his life in his farewell match."

"Both these guys have said they hate Andre; Studd's hated him for years, Earthquake has hated him ever since he joined the Million Dollar Corporation..."

"And you know, Gorilla, I don't think Andre ever distinctly proved Studd _wasn't_ the real Giant in wrestling."

"What are you talking about; he beat him at the Bodyslam Challenge at the first Wrestlemania; that proved it!"

"He slammed him, yeah, but he didn't fix the issue of who the real Giant was."

"Well in my book, Andre settled it right there. Earthquake with his usual ring entrance theatrics now, bounding off the ropes and stomping at the floor, and I must say, that gets rather irritating after a while. Let's take you now to Gene Okerlund, who is with Andre and Tugboat."

Backstage, Okerlund looked somber as he turned to the Giant. "Well, Andre, this is it; your final match in your storied career. First, let me say, on behalf of all of us here with the World Wrestling Federation, and the millions of wrestling fans all around the world, thank you for all the memories, and we will without doubt, miss you sincerely."

"Thank you, Gene, and I'll miss you and everyone too," Andre agreed, wiping at his eyes.

"First and foremost, however, you must be thinking one thing and one thing only, that the perfect capper to your illustrious career will be ennacting justice on Earthquake and Big John Studd. I was watching as well when the Walking Natural Disaster deliberately injured your leg in the Funeral Parlor to keep you from helping Hulk Hogan out of that locked coffin, and I'm sure that terrible moment has stuck with you all this time as well."

"I will tell you one thing, Gene: I may be going, but Earthquake, I'm taking you down with me," Andre pointed a finger straight into the camera, "There is one thing you need to know, and that is never strike a sleeping giant and expect to get away with it."

"Absolutely, big guy," Tugboat patted him on the back, "And for the record, Gene, rest assured that I'll be watching Andre's back in there the whole time," he assured the interviewer, "Earthquake steps one foot out of line, he and Studd are going to be hit with a massive tidal wave that'll swamp their careers!"

"All right, then. Captain Lou Albano, you have managed Andre the Giant before; what made you want to come back for this match?" Okerlund asked the Captain.

"Some of my best times were spent either facing Andre or being in his corner; I felt I owed it to him to be here with him for the last ride," Albano admitted, "Plus, seeing that Blassie's going to be in the other corner makes my whole day, because I'm going to show him once and for all that he's pushed the wrong buttons blaming me for being a sellout when he's the one who sold out the sport, and tricked me into thinking he was a friend for so long. Well, the charade's over, Freddie, and tonight, Andre's going to give you the smackdown you deserve as one final accomplishment to hang on the wall. "Let's go, boys," he waved them away, "Destiny awaits!"

"There you have it; Lou Albano with a tremendous tag team; let's see if Andre can in fact go out a winner. Back to you, Gorilla."

"Thanks, Gene, and we certainly hope Andre can go out on top; it wouldn't be fair to his career any other way," Monsoon confessed on the air, "And so, any moment now, Andre the Giant will be headed to the ring for the final time..."

No sooner were the words out of his lips than the Wrestlemania theme rose to life in the Silverdome again, followed by a roar from the crowd as the second cart appeared. "Their opponents," Finkel began, looking somewhat melancholy himself at the magnitude of the moment, "are managed tonight by Captain Louis Albano, and are at a total combined weight of 860 pounds; from Norfolk, Virginia, Tugboat! And, in his farewell match, from Grenoble in the French Alps, the Eighth Wonder of the World, Andre the Giant!"

"Tremendous ovation here for Andre as he heads to the ring for the last time, and from the perspective of our cameras, Andre does appear somewhat overwhelmed by the support," Monsoon noted.

"Well, to prove to you I'm not heartless, Gorilla, I do wish the Giant a happy retirement and thank him for all he's done for the sport of wrestling; on the other hand, though, I just don't see him beating Earthquake and Studd in this one; both men have had it out for him for years, and they're bent on finishing the Giant here and now. Plus, let's not forget Andre's way past his prime, and when it comes to partners, Tugboat's all brawn and no brains."

"I distinctly disagree with that assessment. Andre taking his time going around the ring, shaking hands with everyone; Tugboat and Albano doing the same; they stop again in front of the Harts, and it looks like, yes, Andre and Tugboat are going to sign autographs upon request. Freddie Blassie shouting at them to forget the autographs and get the match started; Lou Albano shouting some sharp words back at the Classy One; these two of course once close friends in the managing world, but once the Captain saw the light, Blassie has vowed to get back at him."

"Well can you blame him, Gorilla; these two and the late, great Grand Wizard had a beautiful thing going, but then Albano sold out to Hogan just like Piper, and in the process, just like Piper too, turned himself into a blathering idiot."

"That's not what happened at all; Albano realized he'd been wasting his life doing all the terrible things he'd done with Blassie and the Wizard, and set about reforming himself. The Captain giving Andre a pat on the back as he climbs into the ring to start off with, yes, Earthquake it appears. There goes the bell, and the Clash of the Titans, Andre the Giant's final match, is underway...and Earthquake going straight for Andre's leg, kicking hard at it with all he's got."

"That's good strategy there by Earthquake; he knows the leg is Andre's weak point; he should exploit that for all he can."

"Well it's not very sportsmanlike to do that if you ask me. Earthquake now trying to pull the leg out from under Andre, Andre breaks that up with a hard chop to the head-but Earthquake shoves him hard backwards into the corner and splashes him. And now a blatant chokehold by Earthquake, who's already stretching the rules in this one."

"Well, he knows Andre's going to be tougher to beat than most of his usual opponents, and that he's going to have to pull out all the stops in this one."

"Earthquake continuing to choke Andre out as Captain Lou bellows at him to cease and desist immediately. Finally, Earthquake lets go, only to hurl Andre hard into the far corner. Here he comes for the big splash-no, Andre out of the way in time! And Andre with a big kick to the chest, a chop to the face, and an Irish whip and big boot to the face, and Earthquake's now reeling!"

"That's the only trouble for Earthquake and Studd in this one; the Giant's been known to snap out of a funk in a heartbeat."

"And that's what he's doing now; Andre twisting Earthquake's arm hard, making him cry out, and now throws him hard into the corner-whoa, what a splash there! Andre turning around and now ramming the rear end into Earthquake over and over again. Andre going for the whip into the ropes-no, Earthquake with the reversal, and Andre gives over the top rope-no, his arms are locked up in them. Earthquake not caring though, as he grabs Andre's legs and starts twisting them into a pretzel...and look at this, Studd pounding away on the chest too; come on ref, break this up!"

"He can't; he's too busy yelling at Jimmy Hart to get off the apron."

"The Mouth's up there on purpose to distract him while his man and Studd do their dirty work-and look out, Earthquake drops his full weight onto Andre's legs; the big guy's howling in agony."

"Andre should tag after this; he's taking a shellacking in there so far."

"Finally the ref turns around and comes over to release him; Andre wobbling on the injured legs, however-and Earthquake kicking them hard again. Andre buckling, almost down to the knees; Earthquake takes the arm, a whip into the ropes...WHOA, ANDRE BOUNCES BACK AND FLATTENS HIM WITH A SHARP CLOTHESLINE!" Monsoon roared with the rest of the Silverdome, "And Andre stumbling over to the corner, and the tag to Tugboat. Tugboat into the ring in a flash, grabs Earthquake around the waist, and now a big side suplex sends the Walking Natural Disaster down again."

"TOOOOOOOOT!" Tugboat pumped his fist like a whistle and bellowed in celebration. He bounced off the ropes, went airborne, and crashed down hard on Earthquake's back. He then hauled him up and tried to throw him into the corner, but Earthquake reversed it and slammed him face-first into the turnbuckle instead. "Quick thinking there by Earthquake saves himself from more damage-look at this, he's hooked Tugboat's neck on the ropes and he's shoving it up and down on them; come on!" Monsoon protested.

"Well, Gorilla, with a guy like Tugboat who's the size of an aircraft carrier, you gotta take all the necessary steps."

"You call choking a guy out necessary? Wait a minute, Tugboat with a series of hard elbows to the chest to break that, now shoves Earthquake back into the far ropes, rushes him, and they bump hard."

"Neither guy with the advantage here; I've said it before, and I'll say it again, Tugboat and Earthquake would do much better if they worked together as a team rather than separately."

"And I'll say it again, why would Tugboat and Earthquake _ever_ work together, especially given Tugboat's one of Hulk Hogan's best friends? Both men off the ropes again, and again they bump hard in the middle of the ring, glaring hard in each other's faces. Tugboat has called out Earthquake for his brutality in the ring before-another reason I can't ever see these two working together on anything-especially the actions he witnessed at the Survivor Series where Earthquake assaulted Sapphire when she tried to protect Dusty Rhodes from getting a second Earthquake after he'd been eliminated from the match. Here they now go again for a third collission off the ropes-whoa, Earthquake surprises him with a dropkick, and Tugboat is down!"

"You and McMahon call Earthquake a mindless brute, Gorilla, but he's very smart under all that; that's why the Million Dollar Corporation took him in, because they knew he'd be a terrific asset in chasing down Hogan."

"Earthquake doing that cocky muscle flexing he always does after a big move, and now, oh no, walks contemptuously over the fallen Tugboat, laughing all the way. Big John Studd now tagged in for the first time in the match; Studd grabs Tugboat by the legs and stomps in the groin area a few times. Studd yanking Tugboat up by the hair, a few hard elbows in the chest, and now it appears, yes, he's trying to lift him up for the slam...looks like Tugboat's too heavy, though, and look out, down goes Studd, and Tugboat's on top of him for the cover! One, two...Earthquake in to make the save. Studd getting back to his feet, hooks Tugboat's head under his armpit; looks like he's going for a twisting neckbreaker...no, Tugboat fighting it-and he reverses it and shoves Studd over his head to the mat! Tugboat now with a new head of steam, off the ropes, drops the elbow hard into Studd's chest. Blassie yelling at his man for the evening to get with the program outside the ring; after Volkoff embarrassed him in the tag team match, he doesn't want a second humiliation to his credit so soon this evening."

"He won't; Studd may be in a slight fix right now, but he's bounced back himself over the years in the clutch."

"Unfortunately, Studd not showing much offense right now as Tugboat spreads the legs wide and...ooooouuuch, headbutt right where it hurts."

"Yeah, a really fair move there by Tugboat-but of course, as you noted, Gorilla, he is Hogan's best friend, and since Hogan cheats his head off in every match he's in..."

"Will you stop! Tugboat going up on the bottom rope in the corner, measuring Studd, here he goes, down hard on the chest! The cover: one, two...again Earthquake makes the save-and Tugboat's upset; look at him yelling at the top of his lungs in Earthquake's face to knock it off!"

"Yeah, he's a real sore loser, isn't he?"

"He would have had Studd if Earthquake hadn't interfered-and now they're shoving each other. Tugboat and Earthquake going off the ropes for another collission, and again they bump hard into the middle of the ring. Hold on, Studd getting back up, he's stumbling towards Tugboat with his arms up for an axhandle...but Andre calls out in time, and Tugboat hits the deck, and Earthquake gets decked in the face instead! Tugboat back up, grabs Studd by the arm, and rams him into Earthquake, and the Walking Natural Disaster goes tumbling out of the ring! Tugboat hurls Studd into the corner, and here he comes for a Tidal Wave-yes! Studd crumples to the canvas...but what's this, Tugboat leaving the ring, and storming over towards where Earthquake landed; he's not finished with him yet!"

"I think he's making a big mistake here, taking the eye off the ball when he could have covered and pinned Studd right now."

"You may be right. The count at three as Tugboat, still looking furious, shouts at Earthquake to step into the ring and finish it, apparently considering Studd done for the moment. Earthquake just standing there glaring at him-look out, here comes Blassie from behind, and he wallops him in the back with his cane...but no harm apparently done, and Tugboat spins around and lifts the Classy One clean off the ground; I think he's going to give him the treatment too!"

"The count's at six now; he'd better be quick about it, or he'll cost Andre a big finale; look, even Albano's over to shout at him to get back in the ring and handle Studd."

"Wait a minute, Earthquake grabs the megaphone off Jimmy Hart, he's coming up behind Tugboat, turn around...!" Monsoon cries were in vain, as Earthquake nailed Tugboat in the back of the leg with the megaphone, sending Tugboat toppling to his knees. Earthquake heaved him up and rolled him into the ring with the count at nine. "Cover!" he shouted to Studd in the ring.

"You heard him, Studd baby, he's down and out!" Jimmy took the megaphone back from his man and shouted at Studd, "Cover him now, baby, cover him now!"

"Tugger!" Albano rushed over, grabbed the megaphone off the Mouth of the South, and shouted at Tugboat himself, "Tugger, get to the corner and make the tag, before...!"

He was tackled hard to the floor by Blassie, the megaphone flying out of his hands. "I've waited a long time for this, Albano," Blassie glared darkly at him, "This is for the Wizard, and me!"

"Look at this, Freddie Blassie punching Lou Albano's lights out on the floor; I can't believe he'd go that low!" Monsoon complained, "Meanwhile, Studd crawling towards the prostrate, groaning Tugboat...and we have a cover: one, two...kickout at the last second by Tugboat."

"The referee was out of position; that should have been three!"

"Well it isn't, and we're still going here-and Blassie now hitting Albano with his cane; come on!" Monsoon groaned, "Blassie hauls the Captain up and throws him to Earthquake; looks like he's saying, 'He's all yours, big guy; do what you want.' Earthquake laughing, and picks Captain Lou up for a big bodyslam...and then walks right over him, laughing again; this guy is heartless to the core!"

"But he's efficient; you can't argue that, Gorilla."

"Tugboat being thrown into the corner by John Studd, who starts chopping at the throat. We get a glimpse of Andre, helpless to stop the pounding on his partner and manager, hoping he can be tagged in before the match ends. Right now, though, the odds seem stacked against him, as Tugboat with a hard kick to the chest by Studd, who now climbs to the top rope and fells him with a diving chop. Another cover: one, two...foot was on the ropes. Studd with the tag to Earthquake, who runs full sprint across the ring and jumps right on top of Tugboat's head. Earthquake laughing coldly, drags Tugboat to the center of the ring, winds up the arm, and drops it hard on Tugboat."

"By now, Tugboat's regretting not finishing Studd when he had the chance...and now he has extra reason; here come the tremors," Ventura snickered as Earthquake commenced stomping around his fallen foe, "Tugboat's about to get the full ten on the Richter Scale and ruin Andre's final night."

"Earthquake with that confident smile as he bounces back and forth between the ropes; this could well be the end...but he misses the Earthquake!" Monsoon bellowed as Tugboat rolled out of the way at the last second, leaving Earthquake to land flat on his rear end in the middle of the ring, "The first time I've ever seen a missed attempt on the final Earthquake! Tugboat crawling desparately towards his corner, straining for Andre's outstretched hand...no, Studd into the ring and stops him before the tag can be made," he shook his head in disgust, "Big John Studd now remaining in the ring against regulations, helping Earthquake ram Tugboat hard into the corner; Earthquake splashes him, and now Studd does the same. Both men take Tugboat by the arms, fling him into the far ropes, they're going for a double clothesline-no, Tugboat ducks under it-and flattens them both with a clothesline of his own! Tugboat down on his knees, crawling towards the corner again. Andre reaching out as far as he can; can they do it this time? Tugboat straining, straining...and there's the tag! Andre back into the ring, and he looks ready for action. Studd quickly bails out to his corner...but look at that, Earthquake tags him right back in as he dives through the ropes to safety!"

"Oh well, like I said, Studd's the real Giant in wrestling, so he can take Andre one on one."

"Studd looking extremely hesitant to enter the ring even though he was tagged in-and Andre grabs the top rope and yanks him in the hard way. Andre drops the shoulder on Studd, then nails with a boot to the chest. Studd off the ropes, and a boot to the face sends him down. Andre with the cover: one, two...again Earthquake makes the save-and Andre rams his and Studd's heads together! The Giant on a roll, and that includes now hurling Studd clean out of the ring! Andre through the ropes, picks Studd up, and rams his back into the apron. Look out, Blassie coming from behind swinging the cane-but Andre blocks it, and now he picks the Classy One up and slams him! And before you say that was unfair, Jesse, after what Blassie did to Captain Lou, who's just now getting to his feet, he deserved to get the same himself."

"You think what you want, Gorilla; Andre was dirty there just now as far as I'm concerned."

"Andre back into the ring, gives Studd's arm a hard twist until he screams in agony, and now a hard chop to the shoulder area that makes him scream more...and now he picks Studd up, holds him in the air; this crowd chanting their approval for him to slam Studd just like at the very first Wrestlemania...and now he slams Studd a second time! They're blowing the roof off the Silverdome!"

"I can't believe Studd wouldn't have taken the steps to prevent that from happening again," Ventura shook his head in disgust.

"Earthquake into the ring with Jimmy Hart's megaphone again; he wants to hurt the Giant with...no, Andre turns around and knocks it out of his hands...AND HOW ABOUT THAT, ANDRE PICKS EARTHQUAKE UP AND SLAMS **HIM** TOO! NOBODY'S EVEN COME CLOSE TO SLAMMING EARTHQUAKE IN THE WWF TO DATE!"

"Well, if anyone was going to do it, it was Andre," Ventura muttered, even more disgusted now.

"Earthquake flat on the mat, looking horrified that he was just humiliated in that manner. And now look, Andre's actually climbing up to the top rope; I think he's going to finish Studd even more memorably! Andre the Giant, perched ten feet in the air over Big John Studd, here he comes...bullseye! The cover: one, two, it's over!"

The Silverdome erupted in a carnal cheer. "Andre gets the win in his final match...and look out, Tugboat now climbing the ropes to the top as well; he wants to give it to Earthquake himself, and I say, go right ahead, Tugger!"

"You condone this poor sportsmanship on Tugboat's part, Monsoon?"

"This is justice...and Tugboat down hard on Earthquake's chest...!"

"TOOOOOOOOT!" Tugboat blew his horn in celebration. He approached Albano near the ropes and gently extended his arm towards his manager for the evening. "What's going on now? Captain Lou extending something to Tugboat, Tugboat grinning as he hands it to Andre...an electric razor," Monsoon recognized it as Andre held it high and turned it on with a devilish grin, "Oh, I know what Andre's thinking here..."

"And as usual, you condone it, even though the match is over, am I right, Gorilla?"

"Earthquake's eyes going wide at the sight of the razor; he knows what's coming-and he bails out of the ring, following Jimmy Hart and Freddie Blassie to safety. Earthquake cowardly abandoning Big John Studd in the ring to his fate, and Andre grinning like the cat that swallowed the canary as he approaches Studd; he's waited a long time for this..."

"And I refuse to watch it," Ventura turned his chair away from the ring and folded his arms across his chest.

"Suit yourself, Jesse. Andre bending down over his old foe...he's going for the beard. Andre the Giant shaving John Studd's beard off, which to me is the perfect way to close the circle; his most infamous moment came when Studd shaved his hair off, and now, before he departs ringside for the final time, he's going to do the same back to Studd, but more creatively. Andre shaving away; Studd is out cold and has no idea what's going on. Lou Albano and Tugboat clapping behind Andre, urging him on...and that's it, he shaved the beard clean off-and Andre gathering up the beard pieces and throwing them into the crowd as souvenirs; how about that?"

"I refuse to comment on this deplorable spectacle," Ventura grumbled.

"Maybe here's something you would like to comment on: Bobby Heenan, now finally free of the handcuffs, rushing down to ringside, he's dragging the dazed, beardless Studd out of the ring and carries him to safety, but the damage already done. Listen to the ovation Andre's getting here-and I believe his eyes are starting to moisten now as he realizes it's over now; his last match is official."

"And I'll bet that's why he pulled out the razor and went for Studd's beard; he knew that since he's retiring, he can't get suspended for it."

"I'm not listening to you right now, Jesse; this is too important a moment. Andre the Giant leaving the ring for the last time; he's going around ringside, shaking hands with the fans one more time; it's clear they'll miss him as much as he'll miss them. Andre climbing onto the cart with a little reluctance; Tugboat and Captain Lou thrust his arms in the air in celebration as the cart starts heading back to the locker room for the final time for Andre the Giant. From all of us here, and everyone watching at home, Andre, thank you for all the memories." Monsoon wiped a tear from his own eye just as, for the second time that evening, an announcement came up over the loudspeakers, unnoticed by him: "Your attention please, will Bruce Hart please report to the locker room door; Bruce Hart to the locker room door." "All right," Monsoon regained his composure, "we're now going to take a fifteen minute intermission, folks, but rest assured, we'll be back really soon with lots more Wrestlemania action..."

* * *

"Yeah, good work, brother," Hulk saluted Andre on the TV just before he disappeared behind the curtain for the final time in his career, "Glad you got to go out on top. That was a good one, wasn't it, Timmy?" he leaned forward over the seat and asked the boy.

"Sure was, Hulk," his little friend gave him a thunbs-up, "How much longer before we reached Detroit?"

"Probably about..." Hulk chest his wrist, realized he wasn't wearing a watch at the moment, and glanced backwards over his seat to check Marella's doctor's watch, "...a little under another hour. So I think we're still good on time right now. Still, the sooner we get there, the better, in case things start going south if the mob gets frustrated they're losing so much so far..."


	6. Chapter 6

"You folks enjoying the show so far?" Tunney asked the Harts with a warm smile, rising up from his ringside seat and walking over.

"Could be better," Smith mumbled, looking in disgust at the small check marks he'd placed next to his picks to win each match thus far on his program, most of which had not panned out.

"Don't mind him, Mr. Tunney; he's just jealous that he can't pick a winner half the time," Georgia shot him a glare. "Of course the rest of us are enjoying it though. And I could see you've been enjoying it yourself more as the event went on."

"Well, yes, I must admit I am largely pleased by how things have been going so far," Tunney shot a quick glance up at the luxury suites, "Of course, one shouldn't count one's chickens before they're hatched, though. Glad to see it's going over so well with you the fans, though; it was well worth the planning if the crowd enjoys it."

"Darn right we're enjoying it," Edna pumped her fist in the air in pride, "Being able to give those blowhards Rude and Heenan what they've been asking for was more than worth the wait."

"Well, Mrs. Traylor, in the future, I'll have to ask you to refrain from interfering in the match, even if Mr. Rude and his party deserved it," Tunney told her with a frown, "I've always believed each match should proceed without the audience getting involved."

He fiddled slightly with his bow tie. "And Stu, looks like your family's got three matches on the card very soon; I wish them all luck," he told the Hart patriarch.

"Four, actually; Roddy's my children's cousin," Helen pointed out.

"Oh yes, I forgot about that," Tunney remembered, "Well, looks like you have even more to cheer about coming up, then." He noticed Bruce's empty seat. "I see they called your second oldest off again; wonder what that's all about."

"Who knows and who cares?" Dean shrugged indifferently, "If you ask me, Bruce needs the time off; he's been acting weird the last few weeks..."

* * *

"You wanted to see me, Bret?" Bruce stuck his head in the locker room door, looking nervous.

"Come on in and shut the door, Bruce," Bret told him sternly, a scowl on his face and his arms folded across his chest. Behind him, Davey, Owen, and Neidhart stood similarly, also scowling. Bruce did so, his hands visibly shaking. "You, uh, um, what's so important that...um...?" he fumbled for something to say worriedly.

"Oh this is very important, Bruce," the Hitman slowly stepped towards his older brother, "You see, when Hulk lost the title the way he did, with the lookalike referee, there was just something familiar about it. I gave Wayne a call a few weeks ago to see if we'd done something like that in Stampede when I was a child. And it turns out there was a main event match from when I was six in which Sandy and Alexander Scott switched places as referees. But what stayed with me the most when I learned the specific details of the match was who the beneficiary in the ring of the switched refs was...you."

"Oh, well, um, I was glad to win, yeah, and what an amazing coincidence the same thing would happen to Hogan..." Bruce stammered, looking pale now.

"Coincidence? I don't think so, you cowardly son of a...!" Bret unexpectedly shoved Bruce hard into the wall. "I can't believe you, Bruce; you would sell out to the mob and show them how to cheat Hulk out of the title for cold hard cash!" he roared furiously in Bruce's face, "Don't think I don't know what that early paging for you tonight was; they handed you off the cash then, didn't they!?"

"Bret, please, let me explain...!" Bruce whimpered.

"Hulk's in the hospital right now; Liz had a concussion, and Mr. Tunney's going to lose control of the WWF if Perfect and Flair win tonight-and don't think the mob's not going to do everything possible to make sure they win! I hope you're proud of yourself, Bruce; you may just have helped destroy wrestling for good-and just so you could keep New Stampede afloat!" Bret barked at him, "Yeah, I figured out what your motive was; Wayne told me how desperate you are to do anything to keep it afloat-including finally solving a big mystery and pointing out it was YOU that forged Dad's name onto the bank forms at the Survivor Series!"

"So that was it," Neidhart glared at Bruce as well, "I should have known-and you had the easy cover with Smith and Dean's gambling problems; everyone would think it was them selling the mansion out under Mr. Hart's feet to cover their debts. But this was even lower, Bruce..."

"Come on you guys, please understand, I'm not a monster!" Bruce burst into tears and crumpled to the floor, "I made them swear not to hurt anyone when I gave them the angle to use; I was just as horrified as everyone else watching when Roberts knocked Hulette out cold and the Undertaker locked Hogan in the coffin; if any of them had been crippled or worse, I'd never have been able to live with myself!"

"Well, answer this, Bruce; how can you live with yourself now, knowing none of that would have happened if you hadn't opened your mouth to them?" Davey gave him a frown too, "You can spin this all you want, but you still have a lot of fault here."

Bruce whimpered softly and buried his face in his hands. "You guys don't understand...ever since Smith started squandering his life away, I've been Dad's oldest for all intents and purposes," he mumbled between tears, "Do you guys have any idea how much pressure that is to live up to everything the man's done for the sport of wrestling? I had to be him, or surpass him, but nothing I've ever done's pleased him! And then you two took off," he pointed back and forth between Bret and Owen, "and I've been all but forgotten-do either of you know what it's like being reduced to being described as the Hitman and the Rocket's nameless, washed-up brother?"

"Oh come on, Bruce, it's not that bad..." Owen tried to reason with him, a large amount of sympathy visible on his face.

"To me it is," Bruce lamented, "And then when you two took off as well," he gestured at Davey and Neidhart, "That buried me further below Diana and Ellie; you've seen how much they love being in the spotlight as your wives. Heck, even Keith outshines me when he still steps into the ring; it's a no-win situation..."

He dug out a tissue and blew his nose hard. "You see, New Stampede's all I have," he told the four of them solemnly, "It's my last chance to be somebody; if I lose it, I'm done, I'm screwed, and Dad'll never trust me again with anything. This is my last chance for him to be proud of me..."

"Bruce, Bruce, listen," Bret bent down to his level, still frowning, but also looking sympathetic now himself, "I thought that same way for years about whether Dad would like me or not; then, it became clear, I was his son, and he'd always love me for that. He loves you too, and always will. The one thing he'd want most right now is for you to do the right thing."

"What is the right thing, Bret? I don't even know anymore," Bruce shook his head in misery.

"First, you're going to tell him and Mom everything..."

"Oh no, please, anything but that; he'll kill me, Bret, you know that! He's still as strong as he was in his prime...!"

"You said you wanted to do the right thing, Bruce; he won't respect you if you keep lying to him," Owen added firmly, "And once you do that, you're going to give back the money or give it to charity."

"And New Stampede...?"

"If it goes under, it goes under-but it'll do it fairly," the youngest Hart emphasized, "That's what Dad would want; the sport run fairly. Which is why Ricky and Randy have to win tonight; to keep the sport fair for future generations. You got all that?"

"I don't know..."

"You want to be a man, Bruce, you'll do it," Bret goaded him, "Don't think the Vincenelli Family will leave New Stampede alone if you give them the WWF; they'll break you down and push you out and ruin it as well. Stop the process now, and it might not go any further. The choice is yours, but that's what we all think."

He turned to the rest of his family, direct and extended, who nodded firmly. "Well, I'll...I'll see what I can do to reverse it," Bruce mumbled, "I'm, uh, if you're done, I'll be getting back to my seat, and, uh, letting everyone know, then. Till later."

He bustled out the locker room door. "Should we trust him?" Neidhart spoke for all four of them.

"You and Owen are going to the front row with everyone else after your match, right? Make sure he tells everyone everything," Bret instructed them with a shake of his head, "Not that I don't trust him, but given the gravity of the whole thing, better make absolutely sure."

"We'll do what we can," Owen vowed. He glanced up at the clock overhead. "Intermission should be just about over by now. I can't believe it's actually here-Wrestlemania, over ninety thousand people..."

"And you're going to do just great, Owen, I know it," Bret rubbed him encouragingly on the shoulder, "Just don't let the jitters get to you, and the Rougeaus won't know what hit them."

"Right," Owen took a deep breath, "Well, at least Jim'll be there to hold my back if anything goes wrong. I hope soon, though, there'll be an eight man match that all four of us could work together in."

"I'd like that, yeah," Davey nodded, "Or, like it was brought up before Survivor Series, that the four of us join a super team some day."

"I'd like that too," Bret nodded dreamily, "All of us, for Canada's honor. Who knows would the future holds for us?" he stared at the image of the four of them in the mirror on the nearest row of lockers, "Four stallions, running hard, running fast, hopefully forever."

"Shame it couldn't be the five stallions; it would have been perfect if Tom hadn't thrown everything away and could be here too," Davey shook his head softly.

"Well, he's with us in spirit-and I'm sure he's watching too back home in England," the Hitman rationalized, "We'll be fighting for him." He glanced at the nearest TV monitor in the locker room, from which loud cheering could be heard, "Well, looks like intermission's just about over. I'm guessing we'll be on ourselves in about twenty minutes..."

* * *

"Welcome back to WrestleMania, and what a first half it's been so far, Jesse; the tag titles changed hands in spectacular fashion, and Andre the Giant was able to go out on top," Monsoon resumed the broadcast.

"And as usual, Gorilla, the pleasure was all yours," the Body grumbled.

"Still a whole lot more to come; the Intercontinental and world titles, plus the Million Dollar Belt, are still on the line, and we have both an eight and a twelve man match left, plus a haircut match. But first, to start off the second half, a special six match match, so let's get back to ringside," Monsoon turned eagerly back to his monitor as the bell rang to start the second half of the card. "The following contest is a six man tag match, scheduled for one fall," Finkel proclaimed over the sounds of ominous Hawaiian-style music coming to life over the loudspeakers, "Approaching the ringside area with their respective managers, Mr. Fuji and Bobby 'the Brain' Heenan, at a total combined weight of 792 pounds, from Kona, Hawaii, Crush, and from Amarillo, Texas, Arn Anderson and Tully Blanchard, the Brainbusters!"

"Collective booing here for Crush, with one hand on Fuji's Japanese flag," Monsoon noted, "Crush almost completely despised these days for having become an outright Japanese sympathizer..."

"And because I know you and McMahon love to castigate me, let me say for the record that as a red-blooded American, I don't approve of Crush's decision either," Ventura interceded, "This IS the greatest country on earth, and people who turn their backs on it don't belong here. That said, though, I still think Crush got better since he came under Fuji's guidance. And of course the still full-blooded American Brainbusters even out the equation, and all three of them are infinitely better than their opponents."

"That most assuredly remains to be seen, especially since their opponents are patriots in their own rights. And they should be coming out any minute now..."

"AMERRRRRIIICAAAAAAAN DREEEEEEEEEAM!" came the loud cheer over the sound system, followed by the peppy song kicking in to the announcement, "Their opponents are collectively managed by Sapphire, at a total combined weight of 836 pounds, from Smyrna, Georgia, the American Dream Dusty Rhodes, and from Austin, Texas, Billy and Bart, the Smoking Gunns!"

"The Dream and the Gunns taking a page out of Razor Ramon's team from the start of the match and tossing souvenir T-shirts, presumably autographed, to the crowd; they do represent the generous spirit of this country..."

"Yeah, but too bad they can't wrestle worth a..."

"Will you stop!? Dusty Rhodes of course multiple world champion in the territories, and the Smoking Gunns in their brief time here in the World Wrestling Federation have more than made a strong impact, so to say they can't wrestle is quite unbecoming."

"But look at them degrading themselves in there," the Body pointed with contempt at the Gunns imitating Dusty and Sapphire's dance moves with them, "They call THAT professional Americanism!?"

"I certainly do. There goes the bell, and it's Dusty starting off against Arn Anderson. Dusty swings a roundhouse right that Arn blocks and twists his arm hard. Hard kick to the chest, and a hard blow to the arm as well. Arn off the ropes, Dusty hits the deck-whoa, monkey flip sends Arn flying! Dusty off the ropes, goes airborne...Arn out of the way in time. Tag to his partner-and he and Tully flatten Dusty with a double clothesline. Arn still in the ring, helping his partner pound away on Dusty's back; referee warning him to get out, Arn finally complies. Tully throws Dusty into the corner, charges in...Dusty stops the momentum with the elbow to the face. Tag to Billy Gunn, who takes Tully by the arm swings him around-into a left hook from his brother..."

"That's terrible; this is what I call an illegal double teaming!"

"Nothing the Brainbusters haven't done themselves over the years. Blanchard sent for the ride into the ropes, gets...no, flattens Billy with a clothesline...but then misses a leg drop. Tully nonetheless back to his feet quickly, kick to Billy's chest, and now slams his head into the mat. Kick to the head for good measure, and Tully tags in Crush. The Flying Hawaiian hauls Billy up, setting him up for a twisting neckbreaker-spot on. Crush off the ropes, hard shoulder block sends Billy flying backwards...but he tags his brother, and I don't think Crush saw it. Crush obliviously pulling Billy up...Bart leaps over his brother and takes him down with a flying tackle, and we have a cover: one, two...Arn in to make the save. And now a cheap shot kick to Bart's back before he leaves. Bart rushes him in a rage, pummeling him...and from behind, Crush hefts him over his head and a big backdrop."

"Yep, Bart blew that one; took his eyes off the legal man, and that costs you every time."

"Crush pounding hard on the back of the neck, throws Bart hard into the corner, and both Brainbusters nail him in the back of the head. Crush picks Bart up over his head and tosses him halfway across the ring, and here he comes with a big diving splash. Hooks the leg: one, two...just missed the three there. Tag to Tully, and Blanchard throws Bart into the ropes and whoa, big kick to the face there. Picks him up and a big slam; a look there at Sapphire trying to encourage Bart on..."

"Yeah, like she can do any good; she's more useless than Liz and Oscar combined."

"Will you stop!? But look out, Bart with a new burst of momentum, hard rights and left to Tully's face! Sends him for the ride into the ropes and flips him high over his head! Bart going up to the top rope, he's going...no, Arn swipes the leg out from under him, and Bart lands awkwardly on the top rope...!"

"You can say that again, Gorilla; now he's got a new vocal range."

"WILL YOU STOP!? And Arn in and helping Tully kick Bart mercilessly; referee being distracted by the Brain and sees none of it."

"Oh OBVIOUSLY, Heenan HAS to be pulling something illegal all the time in your mind..."

"Well that fits his M.O. to a T, mind you. Arn back out, and gets tagged in once the referee finally turns around. Bart Gunn taking a shellacking here at the moment, one that gets a little rougher as Anderson slaps on a brutal-looking abdominal stretch. Bart grimacing in agony; referee asking if he wants to give in; Bart furiously shaking his head..."

"Well he's a fool then, because Arn won't give in till he cracks."

"That remains to be seen. And look at this, Crush going up to the top rope, he's not going to...Crush jumps and kicks to the helpless Bart in the chest!" Monsoon groaned. "Referee furious, demanding he get back out of the ring...and Tully coming with his back turned to kick Bart as well! This is getting ridiculous!"

"Well, Bart knew the risks when he and his brother signed the match."

"Billy and Dusty trying to urge Bart on; Arn Anderson releases the hold, throws Bart into the ropes, picks him up, turns him over, and a hard piledriver, and another cover: one, two...again no. Tag to Crush, who immediately climbs up to the top rope-dive-bomb onto the chest. Bart thrown hard into the corner, tries to get out, but Crush hits him with a dropkick that sends him over the top and out. Bart stumbling along the apron, trying to get to his corner for the tag..."

"Knowing his probable IQ, he's probably going to try and tag Sapphire in, as if that would make much difference."

"Doesn't matter; Crush cuts him off before he can reach his corner, and a big suplex back into the ring. And now a determined look on Crush's face...and he grabs both sides of Bart's head; I think we're about to see the Coconut Crush here. And indeed we are; Crush pressing hard on the sides of Bart Gunn's head, and shaking him hard as well; this one could be over...hold the phone, Bart waving his arms towards the corner; Billy's easily in reach...and he made the tag...!"

"No he didn't; he hit Billy's hand by accident; that is not a legal tag!"

"Referee appears to be acknowledging it as one though, and Billy Gunn with a hard blow to the back of Crush's head to break the hold on his brother...!"

"This is utterly ridiculous; this is without a doubt the poorest officiating I've ever seen in the WWF...!"

"And it was all completely legal, Jesse. Billy Gunn now with the momentum, sends Crush into the ropes, and a hard elbow to the face. Scoop slam, and now Billy off the ropes and a big splash. Crush thrown into the corner; the big Hawaiian reaching for a tag...nope, Billy with the splash before he could reach either Brainbuster. Mr. Fuji shouting instructions in Japanese at his man, and Crush lashing out with karate kicks in self-defense...Billy grabs the leg, twists it, and dishes out a hard kick of his own. Tag to Dusty, and the American Dream slingshots himself over the top rope for the big splash. Dusty off the ropes and drops the leg hard, now sends Crush for the ride and downs him with a flying tackle. Sapphire cheering her man on; Dusty with a knowing grin at her as he gives Crush a backbreaker, and a beauty. Sends him for the ride again, diving splash on him; the tide has turned in this one. Dusty throws a now dazed Crush into the corner, and rams his head into the chest repeatedly. And now Dusty's winding up hard, I think I know what's next...Bionic Elbow! Crush stumbling to the mat on his knees...Dusty tags Bart Gunn back in..."

"That could be a mistake, Gorilla; he had Crush reeling..."

"I'll admit I'm surprised he didn't go for the cover following the Bionic Elbow. Bart Gunn, though, looking back to normal, hurling Crush hard into the corner-and he tags Billy, who slingshots him into Crush. Both Gunns cinch him into position; I think here comes their double neckbreaker-yes! This place is going bananas! Another slingshot-uh oh, accidentally threw him into the referee, who stumbles into the ropes...!"

"MORE cheapness by these guys!"

"Now that was an accident, Jesse, very clearly. Referee seems OK, stumbling along the ropes...look out, here come the Brainbusters into the ring, Arn decks Bart down hard to the mat, picks Billy up, and uh oh, Tully on the top rope...and the Brainbusters give Billy Gunn their patented spike piledriver!"

"I love it; that's why these guys are one of the best tag teams out there today."

"Brainbusters out of the ring as the referee turns around; Crush back on his feet, sees Billy down, picks him up, turns him over, and another piledriver. Bart Gunn still down on the floor as Crush goes for the cover-now he sees it, rushes over...too late to break up the three count," Monsoon shook his head in disgust as Crush got the pin and victory for his team, "This one goes into the books as a win for Crush and the Brainbusters, but it took all three men to get it."

"Oh sure, not like the Smoking Gunns didn't try any illegal double teaming themselves."

"You want to talk about double teaming!? Let's go back to the replay here: Arn Anderson and Tully Blanchard taking advantage of the referee's brief incapacitation to pull their spike piledriver illegally on Billy Gunn..."

"Well lest you forget, Gorilla, the Smoking Gunns pulled the first illegal double teaming in this match, so whatever the Brainbusters did was completely justified."

"I'm not having this argument, Jesse; the tens of thousands of people in the Silverdome saw what went down in the ring, and I'm willing to wager they'll agree with Dusty Rhodes and the Smoking Gunns on this one. OK, right now, coming up next, it'll be King versus King: King Harley Race versus King Haku; the loser loses his crowd forever. Looks like we're just about ready to go, so let's head down to Howard for the intros to this one," Monsoon turned back to his monitor as Finkel returned to the center of the ring. "The following contest is scheduled for one fall, with the stipulation that the losing king will surrender his crown, never to wear it again," he announced as royal coronation music cranked up, "Introducing first, accompanied by his manager, Bobby 'the Brain' Heenan, and by Sir Tama, from the Fiji Islands, weighing 273 pounds, King Haku!"

"What is wrong with these people; don't they know to show respect to a king!?" Ventura complained as Haku and Tama instead got an avalanche of boos.

"Haku hasn't earned any royal respect, especially after he and Tama pulled that Pearl Harbor job on Harley Race on Piper's Pit. And I'd have to say he's even below Ric Flair in terms of respect..."

"Well, Flair's different; he's the champion, so everyone SHOULD bow down to him as a king."

"I can't say I understand your logic, Jesse. And this match raises the interesting question, whether the winner then gets a shot at Flair to get his crown too..."

"Hey don't forget Jerry Lawler either; he's made it clear he wants his crown respected as well."

"Jerry 'the King' Lawler, having just arrived in the WWF himself, and who in fact will be joining us on the microphone later this evening for a few matches, has called out all the current monarchs here, claiming he's the one rightful king. Time will only tell what comes of that; either way, there will be one less king in the WWF after tonight. And here comes the other king," Monsoon glanced towards the aisle as the coronation theme crescendoed again, to the announcement, "His opponent, from Kansas City, Missouri, weighing 245 pounds, King Harley Race!"

"You know, this is a really stupid decision by Race to risk this if you ask me, Gorilla," the Body grumbled, "He's way too old and slow; Haku's far more talented and deserving of the crown."

"We'll see how it pans out in this one. Harley Race and Haku glaring each other down in the middle of the ring in their royal garb; one of them will never wear it again after tonight. There goes the bell, as they turn to...wait a minute, Haku quickly taking off his mantle and throwing it on top of Race! Race stumbling around blindly, and Haku with a diving dropkick that sends him to the mat; give me a break!"

"I love it," Ventura laughed loudly, "Good thinking on Haku's part. Now he's going to give Race some royal pain."

"Will you stop!? Haku kicking hard on the downed Harley-and now he's trying to choke Race out with the mantle. He'd better be careful; a disqualification loses him his crown in this one."

"He won't get DQed; Haku's too smart for that."

"Race finally out from under the mantle, getting punched hard in the back by Haku; now Race thrown into the ropes and downed with a dropkick."

"Not much offense so far by the former monarch."

"And look at this; Tama with a cheap shot blow to the back of Race's head in the corner! What business does he have here in this one!?"

"Well, King Haku refused to do this match unless Sir Tama, as I guess he is now, was allowed at ringside with him. Real partners stick up for each other."

"I don't care if he calls himself Sir Tama or Lord Littlebrook; he's...hold the phone, Harley blocks a roundhouse right from Haku, and dishes out a kick in the chest in turn! Belly to belly suplex takes Haku down, and the cover: one, two...no. Knee drop onto Haku's chest; Harley rushes for the ropes-and Heenan grabs the leg and trips him! No gratitude whatsoever from that weasel after everything Harley Race did for him...uh oh, he made him mad; Race jumping over the top rope and storming after the Brain! Heenan waving his arms, feigning ignorance, but Harley isn't buying it!"

"Now he's the one who has to be careful; he'll lose the crown if he gets the DQ."

"I'm sure Harley Race is well aware of that...from behind, Haku off the apron, downs him with an axhandle to the back of the head. Haku hauls his predecessor up, throws him hard into the ringpost-and Tama off the apron with an axhandle to the head of his own. Both Islanders high five, roll Race back into the ring, while Haku climbs up to the top rope, he measures Race and leaps-and misses! Harley hauls him up...no, Haku pulls him down into a small package: one, two...no. And we...wait, who's that coming back up the aisle?" Monsoon squinted at his monitor, "Dusty Rhodes is coming back! Dusty and Sapphire returning to the ringside area..."

"What business does he have here!?" Ventura thundered, "He is not signed to be in this match; he should be ordered back to the locker room at once!"

"Dusty Rhodes approaching Jack Tunney and whispering in his ear; Tunney with a soft nod, and Dusty and Sapphire taking seats at ringside..."

"If this isn't proof positive of Tunney's corruption, I don't know what is! Rhodes has no business being here now that his scheduled match is done...!"

"Well at the moment he's not doing anything, Jesse; Dusty sitting quite still and watching the match-unlike Tama, who slugs Harley Race's leg out from under him by the ropes. Haku stomping on the chest; the Weasel Heenan shouting him to not let up-and Haku very much not, pressing his foot into Harley's throat and holding on to the top rope for extra leverage. Referee warning him he's risking the DQ, and that would cost him the crown; Haku eases up, drags Harley to his feet, lifting him up for the slam...no, Harley too heavy, and down Haku goes, and he's got the shoulders pinned down: one, two...no. Diving punch to the face by Harley, throws Haku into the ropes, hard shoulder block sends him down. Harley going up to the top rope; Dusty there in his policeman's cap cheering his old friend on..."

"And that's a pathetic fashion statement if you ask me, Gorilla."

"And no one asked you, Jesse. Harley Race perched high in the air, he leaps...and misses. Haku back up, and a hard karate kick to the chest. Harley stumbles backwards into the ropes; Haku rushes him-whoa, Harley throws him over his head and out of the ring! Strong applause from Dusty and Sapphire..."

"That was dirty on Race's part; you cannot condone that, Gorilla!"

"It was a simple move in the heat of the moment to save himself, and it was perfectly legal. Bobby Heenan and Tama coming over to help their man up..."

"Let's get it straight, Monsoon, as long as Haku is king, it's SIR Tama."

"All right, we'll do it your way; SIR Tama shielding his fellow Islander as Harley climbs on the apron-and jumps, knocking down both Islanders!"

"That is the most unsportsmanlike thing I've ever seen! Hitting an innocent bystander in Tama...!"

"...who, with all his outside interference so far in this match, has shown himself to be far from innocent. Heenan trying to get between Race and Haku; Harley pushes him aside and rolls Haku back into the ring. Harley slides back in himself, just beating the count-and Tama grabbing the legs and trying to pull him back out-no, here comes Dusty, and he takes Tama down!"

"Anyone with security listening to this broadcast, I DEMAND you throw Dusty Rhodes out of the building right now!" Ventura bellowed furiously to anyone who cared to listen, "This man is flagrantly interfering in this match...!"

"Harley Race back to his feet," Monsoon ignored his partner, "Blocks a roundhouse right by Haku, and Race with hard blows to Haku's face..."

"He's using a closed fist, Gorilla, and don't you deny it!"

"I don't have to, because he's not. King Haku into the ropes, and gets crowned on the rebound over the head by a haymaker from King Harley..."

"That isn't funny, Gorilla!"

"Well, if you can make jokes, Jesse, so can I," Monsoon smirked at his broadcast partner, "Kick to the chest, Haku into the ropes again, and whoa, Race throws him high over his head! Now a backbreaker coming up and a beauty. Tide has turned in this one, and the fans very audibly behind Harley Race in his pursuit of the crown. Harley seemingly feeding off the cheers, taking Haku around the neck...and a hard bulldog! Another cover: one, two...Tama rushing into the ring with the diving save. And Tama with a rake of Race's eyes before he leaves, allowing Haku to throw a cheap shot to the chest..."

"Again, the Islanders do nothing but cheap shots as far as you're concerned, Gorilla..."

"Well look at this match; the Islanders have been playing dirty to maintain Haku's crown pretty much since it began. And look at this now: Tama untying the protective cover on the turnbuckle in the corner; Dusty Rhodes with a hard wipe of the legs to knock him down off the apron, but now that metal bolt is now exposed."

"I repeat, somebody with security PLEASE throw Rhodes out of here! Come on ref, do something with this guy!"

"Referee shouting at Dusty and Tama as they exchange punches on the floor outside the ring; he doesn't notice the bolt is exposed-and Bobby Heenan shouting behind his back for Haku to let Harley have it while the ref's distracted. Haku lunges towards the corner with a handful of Race's hair...no, Harley reverses and Haku hits the bolt face-first instead! Referee turns at Haku's cry of agony, and Harley dives on him for the cover: there's one, two, and three! Harley Race is the reigning monarch of the WWF again!"

"No he's not; that's a disqualification for brutality on Race!" Ventura roared, "He deliberately tried to cripple Haku with that attack...!"

"That was no disqualification when Haku set him up to have the same done to him first. And as you can see, Jesse, the referee feels the same way," Monsoon nodded firmly at the referee raising Race's arm in the ring.

"Well this is a miscarriage of justice as far as I'm concerned, Gorilla; a MAJOR miscarriage of justice!" the Body grumbled.

"You call this unfair? Let's take a look at the replay: the Islanders were visibly setting Race up to take the bolt shot, and it was through good alertness that Harley was able to reverse the toss attempt into the corner; Haku didn't have enough time or momentum to stop."

"Sure, spin it your way, Gorilla..."

"Regardless, Haku's reign as a king is now and forever over; Dusty Rhodes snatching Haku's robes and crown from the corner as the Islanders vacate the ringside area and putting them on himself..."

"Well, he just looks fatter and stupider wearing those. A common man king isn't worth the title."

"I think he looks very regal indeed. Dusty holding the ropes open for Sapphire, raises her arm in celebration..."

"For what!? All she did was sit outside the ring and look pretty!"

"Will you stop!?. Sapphire applauding as Rhodes raises Race's arm in celebration-and here comes the timekeeper with Harley's robe and crown..."

"Again, I don't think he deserves it at all, Gorilla."

"He most certainly does deserve it. Harley Race formally crowned and robed as king again; Dusty and Sapphire fall reverently at their feet before the true king of the World Wrestling Federation..."

"Not yet he's not. When he beats Lawler AND Flair, THEN he can be considered the true king."

"And I'm sure Harley Race will be more than willing to fight just as hard for that title when the time comes. And as for Bobby Heenan, that's one disgruntled former Heenan Family member that got payback on him, and he's still got another one in Paul Orndorff to face later this evening. Right now we're going to take you back to Bruno, who's with the Fabulous Rougeau Brothers...actually, that'll apparently wait a moment, as Mean Gene's going to try and interview Bob Backlund on his strange mental breakdown earlier this evening...

* * *

"Just about time, Mr. Hart, Mr. Neidhart," a page stuck his head in the door.

"AAAAAAll right, let's do it!" Neidhart pumped his fist eagerly, "I've been waiting so long to give the Rougeaus a thrashing they'll never forget!"

"I just wish they could have found better ring suits for us than these," Owen frowned at the checkered jackets and baggy pants that the wardrobe department had procured for he and Neidhart.

"Oh well, we'll make do for now," the Anvil shrugged, "Right now, I just want to pound those hypocrites' heads in."

He led his family out the locker room door (Davey whistling for Mathilda to come from behind the lockers first, then taking his pet by the leash) and down the hall to the interview area, where Sammartino was about set to interview Jimmy and the Rougeaus. To Bruno's right, Okerlund was hailing down the medics hauling a struggling Backlund away. "Bob Backlund, if I may," the bald interviewer waved his hand at them, bringing the medics to a stop, "What in God's name were you doing there in the ring earlier!? That was not the Bob Backlund I and all of us have known over the..."

"It's MR. Bob Backlund if you don't mind, Okerlund!" the former champion shouted at him, his eyes rolling around wildly, "And I am STILL the World Wrestling Federation champion; I never submitted and I demand a title match to defend my crown against the new generation right now!"

"You're not booked for the title Mr. Backlund, and you can't blame the..."

"The WWF has gone soft; it's my job to bring it back to the way it should be!" Backlund ranted and raved insanely, "And I don't need that fool Skaaland to do it with; he ruined my career! I never submitted to the Iron Sheik even after he threw in the towel!"

"I'm sorry, Bob Backlund, but that was an official title change. And your actions against Arnold Skaaland in the ring this evening were totally uncalled for, and unbecoming of a champion...!"

Howling psychotically, Backlund broke loose from the medics, grabbed Okerlund, and tried to put him in the Crossface Chickenwing. "Cut it out!" came Sid's roar from up the hall. Backlund's opponent in his earlier match charged forward and nailed him with a chair. "Get out of here, you psycho; he's just interviewing you!" he bellowed as the medics grabbed Backlund and carried him away. "Thank you, Sycho Sid," Okerlund said with several deep breaths.

"Please, Sid Justice; that's what I want to be know as now," Sid told him firmly.

"All right, Sid Justice it shall be then. And why you're here, perhaps you'd like to tell this vast television audience," Okerlund pointed to the camera, "What made you apparently turn over a new leaf this evening and defend Arnold Skaaland from Bob Backlund?"

"Well Mean Gene, I came to realize in the ring tonight that you can be as rough and tough as you want, but if you don't have honor, you're not worth nothing in this world," Sid said solemnly, "Harvey Whippleman had no honor attacking me and calling me worthless after I put my trust in him-Bob Backlund had no honor attacking the man who got him to the world championship. So I decided to make sure justice would be served. And Backlund," he pointed straight into the camera, "If you want the world title, you're going to have to earn it back like everyone else-and you've got to go through me. And Whippleman, you can throw anything you want at me, but it won't do you any good, because in the end, justice WILL be served with you too."

"All right, thank you Sid Justice, and I think your new outlook on life is a good one to take," Okerlund commended him warmly, "I do wish you luck from here on. Back to you, Gorilla."

"Who knew Sid had a heart?" Davey mused out loud, smiling though, "Well, maybe now he'll be someone worth working with."

"I'm just worried about Backlund," Owen shook his head, "That's not normal at all the way he just snapped tonight..."

"I was worried something like this might happen," Bret shook his own head, "I had a feel the way he lost the title might eat away at him. If Randy does win tonight, I hope he's careful to watch out for Bob..."

"Well, in the meantime, let's see what the turncoats have to say," Neidhart frowned darkly at the Rougeaus about to be interviewed by Sammartino. "Jimmy Hart, for so long, you've had the Rougeau Brothers running from the Hart family; now, the moment of reckoning has come at last," the wrestling legend told the Mouth of the South, "Do you feel you've made the right decision?"

"I don't make mistakes, Bruno baby; I just got tired of the Harts whining and complaining about us ducking them," Jimmy bragged, "They want a fight, they got a fight, and I don't care if the Anvil's got Bret, Owen, or one of their sisters in the corner with him; Jacques and Raymond here are going to show why I decided they were the better team tonight."

"You don't make mistakes, then how come Earthquake just got slammed for the first time in his career?" Sammartino raised an eyebrow.

"I'll tell you, Bruno, we're just so glad to be here in front of all our fans," Jacques cut in, waving his handheld American flag wildly in the camera, "And to all our former countrymen in the frozen Great White North, I just want to say, tough luck; we're all-American boys now, and your Canadian heroes are going right down the drain."

"Jim Neidhart and Owen Hart can't stop us; the whole Hart family can't stop us," Raymond declared, waving his own flag, "And in beating them good, we're going to show all our fans here that we are in fact great American heroes, just like George Lincoln and Abraham Washington."

"Now wait a minute, you've got that backwards...!"

"And, also, for all our fans, we're going to sing our theme on the way to the ring this time," Raymond added as he and Jacques hefted cordless microphones. The Harts groaned in disgust. "Don't they realize that _nobody_ likes their theme even without them singing it!?" Owen rolled his eyes.

"Come on boys, our fans await!" Jimmy waved them towards the carts. Sammartino shook his head in disgust. "The clearly not-so Fabulous Rougeau Brothers, living in a dream world that they're the idols of Americans everywhere," he mumbled into the camera, "Well, we all know what they say, pride goes before a fall. Back to you, Gorilla-and think about covering your ears in a minute."

He in fact jammed his hands over his own ears once the Rougeaus' cart started forward and their theme cranked up in the Silverdome to the announcement: "The following contest is a tag team attraction, scheduled for one fall. Coming down to the ring with their manager, the Mouth of the South Jimmy Hart, at a total combined weight of 470 pounds, from Memphis, Tennessee, here are Jacques and Raymond; the Fabulous Rougeau Brothers!"

"OK everybody, put your hands together!" Jimmy shouted over his megaphone to anyone within earshot, "Jacques and Raymond are going to sing their theme song to all their beloved American fans. Hit it, boys!"

"From Montreal to Memphis, _parlez vous Francais_? Tell all the girls the Rougeaus are on their way!" Jacques and Raymond belted out the lyrics to widespread boos and groans, "They call us pretty boys, we're not all muscleheads; we hate that long-haired look; we like the preppy look instead. We're all-American boys; all-American boys..."

"Can't blame them," Davey pointed at the fans tossing debris at the Rougeaus' cart on the overhead monitors, "They're not foolish, the fans; they can spot hypocrites and frauds when they see them."

"Well, it works in our favor, then; anything the fans can do to soften them up for Owen and me, we'll take it...ooooooooh yeah, you show him, baby!" Neidhart laughed proudly as a fuming Ellie flung her still partially filled popcorn bag at Jacques when he cockily waved his American flag in her face while passing her seat, "I love that woman!"

"Mr. Hart, Mr. Neidhart, if you're ready," Okerlund called from the interview position. The members of the New Foundation bustled over to him right as the cue came through Okerlund's earpiece. "I'm back here with the New Foundation; Jim Neidhart and Owen Hart, you've seen the Rougeau Brothers come out insisting that the entire country is behind them; do you beg to differ?"

"As an American myself, Gene, I sure do beg to differ," Neidhart declared, "True Americans don't brag and boast; they just get down and do the hard work they need to. That's what the Rocket and I are going to do in there right now; we have a big score to settle with the Rougeaus, and they're going to get the ultimate Hart Attack for their misteps!"

He laughed hard. "It's Wrestlemania night, Gene the biggest stage in all of wrestling, and to defend my family's honor from what Jimmy Hart and the Rougeaus did to my brother Bret and the Anvil here a while back, you can bet we're going out and giving it all we've got," Owen added firmly, "My mother's proud to be an American citizen to this day, and unlike Jacques and Raymond Rougeau, who are hypocrites to the extreme, I intend to fight for both real Canadians and real Americans who truly hold their country close to their hearts and do good for them, like a real patriot does."

"You tell him, Owen; let's get cracking and crack their heads wide open!" Neidhart laughed again and rushed pell-mell for the ring carts, Owen rushing to keep up. "Good luck, both of you," Davey called to them in closing, "Bret and I'll be watching from the curtain. You guys are going to look great out there...well, ring suits aside."

"That, and I think we still need a permanent theme after tonight," the Anvil proposed.

"Well, I'm just glad we were able to clear the rights with the Blue Blazer's people for tonight; I always dreamed of entering the ring to the Blue Blazer's theme," Owen seemed proud. "Ready when you are, James," he told the operator. James nodded with a grin and threw the forward switch. The cart lurched down the tunnel and through the curtain as the Blue Blazer's theme cranked up in the Silverdome, with the second announcement: "Their opponents, at a total combined weight of 508 pounds, from Reno, Nevada, Jim 'the Anvil' Neidhart, and from Calgary, Alberta, Canada, 'the Rocket' Owen Hart; the New Foundation!" The lights in the Silverdome had now been slightly dimmed, and thus a powerful spotlight was shining on the cart as it advanced up the aisle towards the ring. "Still no Bruce," Owen frowned, noticing the one empty seat among his family's in the front row, "If he bolted..."

"No need to panic yet, bro; he didn't quite have nearly enough time to get back yet after he left. Anyway, looks like the welcome committee's ready for us," Neidhart broke into a big grin as the cart came to a stop and the ring attendant unlocked the ropes on the front. "We're in the house!" the Anvil roared with another laugh, jumping to the ground and rushing towards the familiar faces, "Wish us luck!"

"Go get them, Jim; they've got nothing!" Wayne shouted out encouragement, being the first to slap hands with his brother-in-law as he and Owen went down the line with each Hart.

"You can do it, pal; they're going down!" Keith threw in, rubbing Neidhart on the head as he passed by.

"Rip their heads off and shove them down their throats for me!" Ellie added a word of support herself, giving her husband a big hug.

"Well, can't make any guarantees, honey, but they do have a lot of pain coming!" Neidhart laughed again. "Get the camera ready, sweetheart; this'll be one for your kids!" he told Natalya, rubbing her hair.

"Give them a big Hart Attack, Daddy," she urged him on as well, "Same with you, Uncle Owen," she asked the Rocket as he slapped hands with Ellie as well.

"You bet," Owen flashed her a thumbs-up, then somersaulted over the ropes into the ring. "Wild entrance here by the New Foundation in their first pay-per-view event; suffice to say, the Anvil and the Rocket are ready to take on the Rougeau Brothers," Monsoon surmised from the broadcast position.

"Too bad they had to choose the worst ring outfits imaginable; maybe if they were auditioning to be rodeo clowns, these would be suitable, but not for a wrestling match," Ventura cracked.

"Well ring outfits certainly do not determine the outcome of a match-and, you were saying?" Monsoon pointed as Neidhart and Owen removed their jackets and pants to reveal traditional Hart family pink and black wrestling gear underneath (pink with black trim for Neidhart, black with pink trim for Owen). "We're about to get underway with this one, and it's going to Jacques Rougeau versus the Anvil to start it off-and Jacques extending a hand towards Neidhart; I think he wants to shake. Neidhart shaking his head; he's not falling for what's likely a trap."

"How do you know? Jacques Rougeau may well be setting a good example just like real American sportsmen are supposed to do."

"Jacques still pressing for a shake; Anvil still not biting-and now he kicks Jacques in the chest for his trouble, followed by a strong hip toss into the corner."

"That's terrible; he's disgracing Stu Hart doing that."

"Oh really? I'd say he's smart enough to avoid getting humiliated. Neidhart with a series of sharp chops to Jacques's face, now tosses him into the opposing corner, and a big splash on him. Neidhart laughing; he's waited a long time for this, whips Jacques into the ropes, and a hard shoulder sends him down. A tag to Owen, who hooks Jacques into position, and here comes a big suplex. A cover right now: one, two...Raymond in to make the save. Owen twisting Jacques's arm hard, trying to wear him down that way," Monsoon chuckled softly as Jacques screamed in overblown agony from the hold, "Owen twisting it hard...and a blow to the chest for good measure. Jacques into the ropes again...no, he grabs hold of the ropes to stop the momentum...but Owen rushes him and clotheslines him over the top and out!"

"Jimmy Hart better get his guys with the program here; the Rougeaus are just getting dominated so far."

"The Mouth of the South in fact having an impromptu conference with the Rougeaus outside the ring now-look out, here comes Owen, and he rams their heads together...!"

"That's terrible; this, ladies and gentlemen, is what the great sportsman Stu Hart condones his family doing in the ring!"

"Stu Hart indeed applauding his youngest son in the front row, but I'm sure it's not anything dirty; after all, he's been waiting just as long as the New Foundation to see the Rougeaus, whom he's come out and said he considers a disgrace to both Canada and the U.S., get what they deserve."

"Ah, what does he know!?"

"Owen Hart yanking Jacques back into the ring, sends him into the ropes again, and takes him down with an armdrag. Another twist of the arm...wait, Jacques straining for his corner, and there's the tag to Raymond; Owen didn't see it-and Raymond nails him in the back of the head for it."

"That's the key point of tag team wrestling; you have to be alert to everything going on in there."

"And look at this, Jacques not getting out of the ring; he's helping his brother double team Owen! Both Rougeaus pounding away on his back, oblivious to the ref yelling for Jacques to get out of there. Now both Rougeaus whip him into the ropes, set up for...no, Owen slides under Raymond's legs, and a flying tackle from behind takes him down. The cover: one...Jacques kicks him in the head to break it up, and now he's out of there at last. Raymond with an atomic drop that sends Owen reeling into the corner..."

"U.S.A.! U.S.A.!" Raymond started shouting to the crowd. Unlike with Duggan earlier, however, he was answered with an avalanche of boos. Indifferent, Raymond whipped Owen into the corner and charged him, but Owen leaped up to the top rope and sprung backwards over Raymond's head, then pulled him down into a small package from behind. "Incredible move by Owen Hart, and here we go: one, two...scissor kick by Raymond breaks the hold. I thought he had him there," Monsoon remarked.

"Well he didn't, so there," Ventura shot back.

"No need to get snippy, Jesse. Owen now sends him into the ropes, and what a dropkick there to take him down again! Tag to the Anvil, who laughs again as he comes in. Hard charging shoulder block sends Raymond down again, followed by the elbow being dropped hard into his chest. Neidhart picks him up, and there's a big body slam. Another cover: one, two...Jacques in to break it up-and gets a hard chop to the face for his troubles. Neidhart shoves Raymond into his brother, and they both go out of the ring again! They're spending more time out there than in the ring!"

"Well the match ain't over yet, so the tide could easily turn the other way."

"I'm well aware of that. Anvil over the top rope, and he smashes Raymond's face into the apron. Jacques jumps on his back, his arms around his neck-but Neidhart backs hard into the ringpost to get him off. Neidhart rolls Raymond back into the ring, then slingshots over the top rope on top of him, and we have another cover: one, two...he just escaped there."

"Lucky thing too; the ref's counting fast!"

"He is not! Referee John Bonello, filling in for scheduled referee Joey Marella, who we understand was hospitalized overnight for an unspecified illness," Monsoon's face grew somber, "has many years of experience, and was a logical fill-in choice; he's always called a match fairly."

"Well, I'll admit he's much less biased than Marella is, but he's still counting fast there."

"Oh really!? Anvil with some hard blows to Raymond's back-and Raymond with a rake of the eyes to break that up. Over to his corner, and a tag to Jacques, who goes for a twisting neckbreaker-but the Anvil too strong, and Neidhart shoves him hard into the corner. Jacques undeterred, starts climbing up to the top rope; he's going to lower the boom...no, Neidhart catches him with a hard blow in the chest! Jacques screeching loud enough to wake the dead; Anvil takes him around the neck, and now we get the neckbreaker, this time on Jacques. Neidhart goes to the ropes for...and look at that, Raymond kicks him in the back from behind...!"

"You rotten cheating coward; get in the ring and fight like a real man!" Ellie jumped up and bellowed furiously at Raymond.

"What!? What was that!? I can't hear you!" Jimmy strode over and shouted mockingly at the top of his lungs through the megaphone into her face. "Pour it on, Jacques, baby, pour it on!" he turned to the ring and shouted out instruction to his man. Jacques obligingly decked Neidhart in the face, cartwheeled backwards from his opponent when Neidhart swung a counterpunch, then went off the ropes and downed him with a tremendous dropkick. "Jacques Rougeau with a new burst of momentum here, and he drives the fist hard into the Anvil chest," Monsoon noted, "Jacques hauls him up and slaps on an abdominal stretch. Neidhart grimacing, trying to fight the pull; Jacques pouring it on...and now Neidhart elbows him in the chest, and again, and that snaps the hold. Hard elbow to the face sends Jacques staggering; Raymond coming into the ring illegally and rushes him-Neidhart off the ropes and nails them both with a double clothesline. Neidhart laughing again, and a tag to Owen, who rushes Jacques-but Jacques takes him down with an arm drag. Hauls him up...and Owen drops him with an arm drag of his own. Owen goes up to drive the knees home-Jacques rolls away in time, and now he does more of those ridiculous cartwheels around the ring, followed by that equally laughable spring-up. Jacques with a triumphant pose, mocking Owen...and look at this, Owen repeats the cartwheel and spring-up; listen to the ovation he's getting!"

"For what; he's a copycat!"

"He did it better, that's what counts. Jacques looking miffed that he was upstaged-and he rushes Owen and flattens him with a hard clothesline. Jacques yanks him up, whips him into the ropes, sets up for...no, Owen leapfrogs over him, leapfrogs over him again on the rebound, and a third time...and Raymond kicks him in the back from behind too; give me a break!"

"As I said earlier, Gorilla; you got to watch your back in a tag team match."

"No kidding, especially with these two jokers; the illegal man always seems to get involved in the match when the Rougeaus are involved. Jacques takes hold of Owen and rams him back-first into the corner, starts punching away-and there's what I mean; Raymond choking him out with the turnbuckle rope; look what they're doing, Mr. Bonello!"

"He can't; Jacques's blocking his view."

"I know, and you can bet that's on purpose. Raymond with another cheap shot blow to Owen's head from behind, and now his brother whips him across the ring into the far corner-no, Owen leaps up to the top rope and again springs over Jacques's head when he tries to splash him! Spinning kick to the chest, and Jacques goes flying into the corner. Owen presses him into the ropes and pulls him down into a crucifix; one, two...again Raymond in to make the save-and both Rougeaus with diving headbutts to Owen; this is getting ridiculous!"

"Yeah, it's always ridiculous when someone you don't like does anything, Gorilla."

"Well look what's going on; Owen Hart being victimized by another illegal double team-here both Rougeaus send him into the ropes and give him a double dropkick. Raymond finally herded out as Jacques grabs Owen by the legs and starts trying to turn him over; I think he's going for a Boston Crab here..."

"Yep, he's got the Crab locked on; let's see how fast the Rocket lasts under that hold."

"Look at this, Raymond's going up to the top rope; he wouldn't dare to...he would," Monsoon groaned as Raymond leaped and came down hard on Owen's head, all while Jacques continued to apply the Boston Crab, "That was uncalled for when Owen Hart couldn't defend himself. Anvil coming into the ring; referee Bonello cuts him off and ushers him out, but I can't blame Jim Neidhart one bit."

"I see, when the Rougeaus come into the ring, it's the most blatant piece of cheating you've ever seen, and when the Anvil does it, it's fine!?"

"Neidhart's stayed out on the apron; the Rougeaus keep coming in and out for no good reason-and Raymond with another cheap shot slug to Owen's face as he climbs out of the ring. Jacques continuing to pour on the Boston Crab; Neidhart trying to encourage his partner on to fight the hold; there we see Owen's brothers and sisters in the front row on their feet, also trying to encourage them on."

"And I'll bet you'd approve if any of them came into the ring and helped him out, Gorilla, just like you approved of what the Boss Man's mother did to poor Rick Rude earlier."

"Jacques finally breaks the hold," Monsoon ignored him, "Scoop slam, and a cover: one, two...Owen just survives. Jacques looking confident, whips him into the ropes...but another leapfrog by Owen over his head, and he's got the legs for another sunset flip-no, Raymond into the ring AGAIN to slug him and break it up. Referee looking frustrated; I think he's warning the Rougeaus to cut it out, or he'll ring for the bell. Jacques and Raymond throwing up their arms innocently; give me a break."

"Well, maybe they'll actually abide by his ruling, Gorilla, and not do it anymore, and then you'll feel sorry for picking on them."

"Highly unlikely, though. Jacques lifts Owen up, and there's a backbreaker on him. Jacques off the ropes; he's going to drop the elbow...no, Owen out of the way in time. Stumbling towards Neidhart's outstretched hand...no, Jacques grabs him around the waist and yanks him backwards-straight into Bonello, who goes down hard."

"And for the record, that was Owen's fault; if he'd been watching where he was going..."

"It was not! And Raymond back into the ring with the referee out cold, and now we have ANOTHER double teaming going on! Both Rougeaus pounding Owen flat into the mat, and now they hurl him into the ropes and give him another double dropkick."

"This is why the Rougeaus are a good team; they can anticipate each other's moves well, and..."

"What's this, Jimmy Hart firing his megaphone to Jacques as Raymond holds Owen still; I think the Mouth's telling his men to finish him for good. Jacques Rougeau with the megaphone, measuring Owen Hart, he swings...and hits his own brother!" Monsoon roared along with the rest of the Silverdome as Owen ducked at the last moment, causing Raymond to take the megaphone to the face instead. "Jacques looking horrified at his mistake-and Owen kicks the megaphone out of his hand and flings him on top of Raymond! Owen going up to the top rope in a flash, both Rougeaus trying to get untangled, but it's too late; Owen down on top of them hard! Raymond swings a punch; Owen cartwheels out of the way-and a spinning kick takes Raymond down when he rushes him! And the same to Jacques when he tries it! Jimmy Hart apoplectic, screaming at the Rougeaus to get their act together; Owen flips Raymond into the ropes, throws him over his head on the rebound, right back into Jacques! Referee slowly getting back to his feet; Owen going back up again to the top rope; he's measuring Raymond, who's getting up first, and here he goes...and a flying dropkick sends Raymond over the top rope and out! Owen Hart is on fire right now; he may just be the best Hart of them all!"

"Then why's he stooping to teaming with the Anvil if he's so great?"

"It's called the learning curve; he wants to learn a little bit more before he goes for it all. Referee Bonello finally back up and conscious-and Owen takes the opportunity to tag Neidhart in; good job on Owen's part to hold his own until the referee was back with it so any tag could be seen and deemed legal. Neidhart with a running clothesline of Jacques, and now another, and a third. Jacques scooped up, and a big body slam. Neidhart laughing hard once more, going up to the top rope, and down hard on Jacques's chest. The Anvil leaning over the ropes, giving the thumbs-up to his wife and daughter there in the front row, and now another to Stu and Helen Hart-and now he goes off the ropes and crashes down hard on Jacques's chest again. Raymond dazed and out of it outside the ring; Jimmy Hart shaking him frantically trying to get him back to it, but they're running out of time, as Neidhart tags Owen in again and hoists Jacques up in that familiar bearhug; I think the end is nigh for the Not-So Fabulous Rougeau Brothers."

"Sure, like Owen really knows how to do the Hart Attack..."

"We shall see; Owen measures Jacques, and here he goes into the far ropes...no, wait, he jumps up to the top rope instead of rebounding, a quick glance over his shoulder...WHOA, OWEN HART WITH A BACKWARDS MOONSAULT OFF THE TOP ROPE TO SMASH JACQUES ROUGEAU FLAT TO THE CANVAS; I'VE NEVER SEE ANYTHING LIKE THAT BEFORE!" Monsoon bellowed excitedly, "Owen with the cover: one, two, three; it's over!"

"Yeah baby, vengeance is ours, Jacquie!" Neidhart laughed at his defeated foe, kicking the prone Jacques out of the ring. He and Owen exchanged a double high five to the roar of the crowd, then leaped over the top rope in unison to accept the congratulations from the rest of the Harts. "We came, we saw, we kicked their heads in, Mr. H!" the Anvil declared, high-fiving Stu hard.

"Yes, great work, Jim," Stu hugged him, "And you too, Owen, great, great job; you've got a great career ahead of yourself," he hugged his youngest child as well.

"Yes, Owen, we're all proud of you, especially me," Helen hugged him close as well.

"Glad to know it, Mom," Owen grinned. His face turned again to Bruce's still empty seat. "Bruce still not back yet?"

"No, and I'm getting worried," Alison did look concerned, "If something's wrong..."

"Oh nothing's wrong, yet," Neidhart frowned-although the frown evaporated when he approached his own family. "Wasn't it one for the ages, huh?" he laughed, hefting Natalya up on his shoulder and giving her a kiss.

"Good work giving them justice, Daddy," she commended him with a kiss of her own.

"Yes, great work...so take a hike, you losers!" Ellie shouted at the defeated Rougeaus as they stumbled out of the ring area, hung over Jimmy's shoulders. "And, so you don't forget, we have the bet," she leaned over a sighing Alison to smirk at Diana, "If Davey doesn't come through in the next match, I get fifty dollars richer."

"He'll come through, Ellie, so don't get so cocky," Diana shot back, pulling Harry close and mumbling softly to herself, "I hope..."


	7. Chapter 7

"Great work, Owen, great work," Bret was all smiles as he gave his brother a strong hug the moment he was off the cart, "That was easily the best match so far tonight."

"Well, I had a feeling adding the Moonsault to the hart Attack would be a nice touch," Owen agreed.

"And boy did it feel good to finally give those two what they deserved!" Neidhart laughed hard, high-fiving all three of his in-laws, "Now I can sleep better at night knowing the Mouth's little power play was all for nothing."

"Indeed, Jim. Well, guess I'm up next," Davey did look a bit nervous, "Not that I'm worried or anything, mind you, but given the Undertaker hasn't lost yet at Wrestlemania, and how unstoppable he usually can be..."

"Unstoppable isn't the same as indestructable, pal; just keep hitting him with everything you've got, and you can beat him," Bret encouraged the Bulldog.

"I hope so, old chap," Davey glanced hesitantly back at the Undertaker and Bearer emerging from the dressing room, looking grimly determined, "Because Mathilda and I are going to have to put in a little overtime for this one."

* * *

"Ah, finally back again, are we?" Ellie snorted at Bruce as he finally returned to his seat, "I suppose you had to fill out more paperwork for whatever that prize was? Or was it just that you were taking the longest bathroom break in recorded history?"

"Ellie, please, I'm not really up to it right now..." Bruce waved her off, glancing around nervously.

"This last match was the high point of my career married to Jim, and I would have appreciated it if my entire family had been at ringside to watch it!" she snapped at him.

"It wasn't my fault; Bret, Jim, and everyone else, they had...they had some important things to say..." he begged his oldest sister.

"Like what?" she demanded. Bruce gulped nervously and visibly slid down in his seat. "Um, uh, they, uh...he...they...they had a few words to say about the direction New Stampede seemed to be going in," he mumbled weakly, wilting under Stu's frowning expression, "Jim and Owen haven't shown up yet, have they?"

"No, and when they do, I hope for your sake that what they say matches what you're saying," she glared at them, "Because you've been acting on edge all day."

"She is right Bruce; is there something you'd like to share?" his father stared firmly at him. Bruce burst into tears. "I didn't mean to do it!" he whimpered, "It's that...I'm sorry, Dad...I...I told...certain people...I went to certain people to keep New Stampede afloat..."

"You didn't," Stu sighed in frustration, "Bruce, I've told you, I want an enterprise to be run honestly. If there's any dirty money involved..."

"I'll give it back; I agreed with Bret I'd give it back, and I will, after the show," Bruce stammered quickly, his eyes still darting around for any sign of either the mob or his brothers and in-laws.

"The mob never did know just when to quit butting into the wrestling game," Angelo sighed from the seat closest to the aisle, having listened in, "Back when I was still actively wrestling, they were everywhere; I could have gotten blacklisted for not taking the dives. They threatened Judy and the boys several times when I made it clear I wouldn't go down for them. That's why I made sure ICW was clean when I ran it, and I commend Tunney for keeping the WWF clean so far."

"Same with Stanley Blackburn with the AWA," Larry agreed next to him, "That's why I made sure Curt started out with him..."

"Lots of good that did; your boy's still dirty today," Edna snorted from the far end of the row, "And a coward too; I remember him taking the deliberate countout the last time he had the belt to keep my Raymond from winning it..."

"For your information, Mrs. Traylor, that was calculated strategy on Curt's part, not dirtiness," Larry tried to stress his viewpoint, "If he simply took the belt and ran, that would be dirty and cowardly; he sized up the situation with your son, acknowledged the situation was beyond his existing capacity, and decided to concede the match, but leave with the gold."

"However you want to spin it, Mr. Axe," the Boss Man's mother shrugged, muttering under her breath, "But he's still dirty..."

"Well, anyway," Larry consulted his program, "Looks like the big guy's up next, against your husband," he leaned towards Diana, who nodded rather nervously, "Well, I do wish him the best of luck, but I'm afraid he doesn't have much chance in this one."

"That's what Dean and I have been saying all the way down; you don't beat the Undertaker at Wrestlemania, even if you are family, period," Smith added confidently.

"And if Ellie's right that you gambled on this event, and I find you bet against Davey, you and Dean have got a sound thrashing coming, Smith Hart!" Diana warned him sharply.

"Now, now, let's not jump to any conclusions here," Helen tried to calm the storm, "Although," she did frown at her oldest and fifth sons, "I sincerely hope this gambling thing isn't true...or that we have stooped to getting unclean money," she turned it towards Bruce.

"It was just one meeting, Mom; nothing more," Bruce said quickly, sweating.

"It better have been, or like I said, you're on your own with New Stampede from now on. Here we go," Ross turned back to the ring after issuing his warning to his brother as Finkel picked up the microphone again. "The following contest is scheduled for one fall. Coming down the..." he abruptly stopped short with his latest introduction as all the lights went out in the Silverdome, accompanied by the familiar ominous gongs ringing out. Then, much like at Summer Slam the previous year, twin columns of flames shot up on either side of the entrance tunnel the instant the funeral march roared to life. The cart carrying Bearer-right against the front ropes of the cart with his urn extended forward and a serene expression on his face-and the Undertaker-with his head lowered so his eyes were not visible to any onlookers-rolled through the flaming columns, to be picked up by the overhead spotlight. "Coming down the aisle," Finkel recovered, "accompanied by Paul Bearer, from Death Valley, weighing 328 p-" he stopped in shock again as two more blasts of flames shot up on either side of the aisle as the cart passed them, making the nearby audience members scream in terror. Two additional jets of flames lit up further down the aisle as the cart passed them as well. "Weighing 328 pounds," the ring announcer continued, looking unnerved himself, "Here is the Undertaker!"

"Well, give the guy credit for a dramatic intro," Larry was impressed, craning to get a look at the Undertaker as the cart drew closer, prompting more flame eruptions all up the aisle, "And he looks good and ready too."

"He may look ready, Larry, but he's not unstoppable; I think Mr. Smith does indeed have a shot here," Angelo countered, "Given Mr...Undertaker's unbeaten streak at Wrestlemania to date, there's certainly the chance he might come in overconfident for one thing. Further, while he may be impervious to pain, perhaps, he's just as susceptible to being pinned if not careful as anyone else. I cite for instance Mr. Hogan's quick thinking to crucifix him at the Survivor Series; perhaps Mr. Smith should try the same approach."

"Thank you, Mr. Poffo; glad to know someone thinks Davey has a good shot at this...I hope," Diana forced a brave face. She, though, shrieked in shock much like almost everyone else at ringside as the largest bursts of flames yet exploded the moment the cart reached the ring just inches from where a surprised Angelo was seated. "Come, come!" Bearer waved his man down off the cart. "It's burial time for the Bulldog tonight!" he cackled menacingly at Diana and Harry as he passed them, and the Undertaker followed that up with a stone cold glare at them both. "It's OK, honey, it's OK," she worriedly hugged Harry close when he threw his arms around her in fear, "He's not going to hurt us or your father...I hope."

"OOOOOOhh yes we are!" Bearer called back at her, laughing. He deftly handed his urn to the referee for safekeeping while he removed his man's trench coat, tie, and hat. The funeral march came to a sudden end, at which point the Silverdome lights came back up to where they were before, and "Rule, Brittania" came to life over the sound system. "His opponent," a now more relaxed Finkel continued, "to be accompanied by Mathilda, from Leeds, England, weighing 270 pounds, the British Bulldog!"

"Here we go," Stu smiled as his son-in-law came into view on his own cart, holding Mathilda high for the cheering fans to see, "Don't you two worry," he assured his youngest daughter and her son, "Davey won't go down without a fight."

"Oh I know that, Dad; it's just who he's fighting that has me worried," Diana admitted. She did smile warmly, though, once her husband's cart came to a stop and he and Mathilda hopped down and immediately came towards them. "Good luck," she gave him a hug and kiss.

"Good luck, Dad," Harry repeated, giving him a hug of his own.

"Don't worry, either of you; I have a plan to stop him cold dead," Davey said as confidently as he could manage. He accepted high-fives from the rest of his in-laws before climbing into the ring and handing Mathilda's leash off to a ring attendant. "That's right; keep the dog where he can't cause any...interference," Bearer warned him from across the ring.

"She won't if you won't, Bearer," Davey warned him, spreading his Union Jack cape wide before handing it off to another attendant. He bent down to give Mathilda, now safely on her ringside perch, a pat on the head, before turning to the glaring Undertaker with a determined expression. "Both men ready to go as the bell rings; let's see who wants this one more," Monsoon remarked from the broadcast position.

"It don't matter who wants it more in this one, Gorilla; the Undertaker does not lose at Wrestlemania, and he's certainly not going to start now with the Bulldog," Ventura iterated, "I mean, look at that; Bulldog hitting him with hard rights and lefts, and he's not feeling a thing."

"Davey Boy indeed unloading the heavy artillery in there to start it off, but no visible harm done to the Undertaker-who then paintbrushes him hard. Undertaker pulls those gloves of his up, I suppose to signify he means business, takes Davey Boy by the arm and throws him hard into the corner. Rushes him-nope, Bulldog out of the way in time-and now smashes the Undertaker's head into the buckle repeatedly: three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten."

"But still no harm done to the guy," Ventura pointed to the unharmed, scowling Undertaker, who blocked Davey's next attempted blow and twisted his arm brutally hard.

"Undertaker showing lots of resilliency so far, and I think he's trying to break the Bulldog's arm clean off here. Davey Boy grimacing in terrible pain-breaks it up with a kick to the chest. Bulldog grabs the Undertaker's arm, whips him into the far ropes...whoa, Deadman wallops him on the rebound with a flying clothesline!"

"I love it; the Phenom's got lots of brains in that head that you and McMahon give him no credit for. And here's the cover: one, two...almost, but he'll get him next time," Ventura shrugged as Davey just barely avoided a three count.

"Undertaker with a lot of control in this one so far, throws the British Bulldog into the corner again-and now he's slapped on the chokehold. Undertaker's eyes rolling back into his head as he chokes the Bulldog out; we've seen this move devastate a lot of his opponents during his time here in the WWF."

"No kidding; when a guy gets this intense with choking out his foes, you know you're in trouble."

"Paul Bearer practically dancing around outside the ring, urging his man on. Davey Boy sliding down to his knees under the strain; finally the Undertaker releases him, only to kick him in the head. We get a glimpse of wife Diana and son Harry there in the front row with the rest of the Hart family, and clearly they're sweating bullets right now."

"Who can blame them, Gorilla; they had to know they might be coming to a funeral today."

"Will you stop!? Undertaker stomping on the Bulldog's chest; that cold expression of his never seems to change. Now he hauls the Bulldog up, sends him into the far ropes, and a hard elbow to the face sends him down again. Undertaker off the ropes himself; he's going to drop the elbow on him-no, Davey Boy rolls out of the way in time..."

"But the Phenom right back up, ready to roll..."

"Davey Boy decking the Undertaker repeatedly in the face-and gets the chokehold clamped back on for his trouble. Undertaker presses the Bulldog's head down to the mat, choking him out; referee warning him he's risking a disqualification if he doesn't stop..."

"Yeah, like he's going to want to do anything to stop the Phenom, knowing he'd get buried himself."

"Undertaker in fact does let go, saving himself from the DQ-and Davey Boy grabs the head and smashes it into the mat! British Bulldog up to his feet, pounding hard on the Undertaker's back, trying to keep him from getting any more momentum. Now he shoves the big guy into the ropes-Bulldog rushes the ropes, and he clotheslines the Undertaker over the top and out!"

"But look, he landed right on his feet, and Paul Bearer's right there to recharge him with more of the urn's power."

"Paul Bearer holding the urn in front of his man, perhaps to give him some more mystical power, or however that's supposed to go-Davey Boy not waiting; he's yanking the Undertaker up by the hair, trying to...no, Undertaker grabs the head and pulls it down into the top rope to break the hold."

"Big mistake by the Bulldog; now, if I were the Phenom, I'd bury him here and now."

"Undertaker climbing back into the ring, surveying the fallen Bulldog. A kick to the face, and the chokehold clamped on still yet again. Undertaker pushing Davey Boy back against the ropes, choking him out again; it has been the Pale Destroyer with most of the offense in this one so far."

"So what else is new, Gorilla? The Phenom has the big guns, and he's not afraid to use them."

"Just too bad most of those guns involve choking the other guy out, like right now. Undertaker with a hard right to Davey Boy's face with his free fist; he's pushing him over the top rope, the Bulldog's almost out of there...but look at this, Davey Boy uses the arm as a springboard the launch himself over the Undertaker's head, and now he's got the legs, trying for a sunset flip! Undertaker fighting it...no, down he goes for the cover! One, two...no. Davey Boy drops the elbow hard into the chest, and now twists the legs; is he going to try the Sharpshooter!?"

"He's wasting his time; the Phenom can't feel that either."

"Nonetheless, British Bulldog appears ready to go for it; he's got the legs twisted, and he's in fact got the Undertaker turned over in the Sharpshooter! Let's see if the Deadman can crack under this!"

"Feel the power of the urn! Gather your strength and fight his hold!" Bearer ordered his man, raising his urn high. With a determined, not at all pained look on his face, the Undertaker started crawling towards the ropes. "Undertaker trying to get to safety; looks like he's a bit stronger than the Bulldog..." Monsoon noted with a frown.

"Yep, he's under the ropes; Bulldog has to break the hold," Ventura smirked.

"Davey Boy indeed releasing the hold-and clotheslines the Undertaker back over the top and out the first chance he gets! Davey Boy raising his arm in satisfaction...uh oh, Deadman grabs him by the throat and yanks him out himself!"

"Big mistake by the Bulldog; he got overconfident, and the Phenom made him pay."

"Give him the full force of the Dark Side! Give him the full force of the Dark Side!" Bearer moaned in sadistic delight, holding the urn in front of his man. The Undertaker obligingly slammed Davey's head into the apron, then dragged him a few feet and repeated the maneuver on the steel ring steps. "Undertaker back with the momentum in this one, rolling the Bulldog back into the ring. Now it looks like he's going up to the top rope," Monsoon frowned, "I've never seen him try anything like this before. Undertaker measures the Bulldog and leaps...but no one home!"

"But, the Phenom right back up," Ventura pointed smugly at the Undertaker almost immediately sitting back up as if nothing had happened.

"But, in turn, Davey Boy with some hard kicks to the face. Hauls the Deadman up, whips him hard into the corner, and the big splash on him. British Bulldog grabs the arm, goes up to the top rope himself, jumps and fells him with an axhandle. Cover: one...no, quick kick out here. Davey Boy delivering a series of hard blows to the face, trying to keep the Undertaker down and unable to retaliate, as we look over Mathilda's shoulder there on her perch, no doubt concerned for her master as well."

"Yeah, whatever. At least I can guess the Undertaker's going to be immune if she doesn't have her rabies shot and goes after him."

"Will you stop!? British Bulldog back in control, whips the Undertaker into the ropes, preapres for...uh oh, Deadman downs him with a flying chokeslam! Undertaker with the cover now: one, two...just missed the three."

"He'll get it, though; he's wearing the Bulldog down."

"Maybe not; Davey Boy with a hard right hook that sends the big guy reeling, and another. Still lots of fight left in the Bulldog, as he pushes the Undertaker into the ropes and pulls him down into a crucifix! One, two...no. Undertaker whipped into the ropes, and a big kick to the face sends him reeling. Now an atomic drop, and he goes staggering again...over the top and out again!"

"Feel the Dark Side! The power of the urn compels you! The power of the urn compels you!" Bearer held it in front of his man to energe him again. Growling, the Undertaker climbed back into the ring, only to be promptly pancaked by Davey into the corner. "British Bulldog going for broke in this one, sending the Undertaker back into the ropes, and another clothesline staggers him!" Monsoon related excitedly, "And now he's lifting him up for a suplex-whoa, lots of verticality there by the Undertaker before he landed! Davey Boy with the cover: one, two...again no."

"And the Phenom rising back up again," Ventura pointed confidently at the Undertaker almost immediately rising up again, completely unharmed.

"Davey Boy picks him up over his shoulder; I think the Deadman is about to get a taste of that patented running powerslam. Davey Boy measuring him..and there it is! Davey Boy picks him up again; is he going to dish out another powerslam? Yes he is-down goes the Deadman hard a second time! And the Bulldog picks him up again; he's going to give him a third one too!"

"Now this is overkill; he made his point; he should either cover him or come up with another move to use."

"He wants to make sure he puts him out of commission before he covers this time, and what better way than with the most devasting move in his arsenal-and the British Bulldog gives the Undertaker a third running powerslam! And he lifts him up _again_; here comes a fourth one! Paul Bearer clutching that urn close to his chest; I don't think he can bear to watch. Davey Boy Smith with the Undertaker held high, charges full speed across the ring, and there's powerslam number four! If this doesn't stop the Deadman, nothing will! Davey Boy with the cover, and here we go: one, two...**NO!"** Monsoon was utterly shocked as the Undertaker again kicked out and rose up, unharmed and with an even colder glare in his eyes, "I CAN'T BELIEVE IT! FOUR POWERSLAMS IN A ROW, AND THE UNDERTAKER IS STILL STANDING!"

"I'll say it again, Gorilla, you cannot hurt the Phenom, period, exclamation point," the Body folded his arms smugly across his chest.

"British Bulldog looking panicked now; that was his best move by far. He quickly scrambles up to the top rope, trying to hit the Undertaker with some more heavy artillery before he gets completely back to his feet. Bulldog quickly raises his arms to give the big guy a double axhandle and leaps..."

"He got caught," Ventura snickered as the Undertaker caught Davey in midair and started turning him over, "And he's setting him up for the Tombstone; this is all she wrote for the Bulldog. The Streak is about to continue onward."

"It's all over, it's all over!" Bearer laughed coldly at the Smiths, Diana now worriedly covering Harry's eyes so he wouldn't see what was about to come. The mortician raised his urn high, jerked it down hard at the exact moment the Undertaker roughly Tombstoned Davey to the mat, and laughed maniacally. His man casually folded the Bulldog's arms across his chest and slid over him for the cover and an easy three count. "A well-earned win by the Undertaker in this one, although give credit to the British Bulldog for giving him a run for the money," Monsoon conceded, "For a while there, I thought he might have gotten him..."

"What, Gorilla; don't tell me you thought the Undertaker was going to actually LOSE at Wrestlemania?" Ventura almost mocked him.

"I'm just saying that, despite the odds against him, Davey Boy Smith did a good job against an eventually superior foe."

"Good job? He still lost, Gorilla, and that's what everyone's going to remember. I'm going to come out and say it: the Undertaker is going to be an all-time great when all's said and done, and I predict very firmly, Gorilla, that one day very soon, even you and McMahon are going to be singing his praises like there's no tomorrow."

"That most assuredly remains to be seen, Jesse. Hmm, looks like the Undertaker has at least one fan there in the front row..."

"I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT!" Ellie was shrieking in delight, jumping up and down. "That's fifty bucks; pay up!" she ordered her sister, shoving a hand in her face.

"I hate you...!" Diana grumbled miserably, nonetheless forking over the money. "It's OK, Harry, you can look now...on second thought, don't look!" he kept her son's eyes covered as Bearer picked up a familiar black object from his corner and walked up the stairs with it. "Look at this now, Paul Bearer's bringing a bodybag into the ring; they can't honestly be thinking of putting the Bulldog in that in front of his family...!" Monsoon's eyes went wide.

"Of course they can; the Phenom won the match; he can do whatever he wants."

"Paul Bearer laying out the bodybag; I think we're going to see...but wait, Mathilda slipping away from her handler and running into the ring, barking at the both of them-and she chases them out of the ring; what a good, loyal pet!"

"Come, come; our work here is done," Bearer called to his man, waving him back to the cart with the urn. The Undertaker grimly lumbered after him, not looking back. "These two sick individuals finally leaving the ringside area, and win or not, I say good riddance," Monsoon remarked, "Meanwhile, Mathilda licking her master's face; she came in to prevent him from being bodybagged, and deserves a lot of praise there. Davey Boy slowing stumbling up into a sitting position; he appears to be all right, and outside, his bride and son looking just as relieved. Davey Boy Smith rubbing Mathilda's sides with pride; he may have lost the match, but he made a good showing out of it. This was the first of three straight direct encounters on our card between members of the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection and the Million Dollar Corporation; we'll take you back now to Bruno Sammartino, who's with Jake 'the Snake' Roberts, who will be participating in our next match..."

* * *

"Well, he did good with what he had available," Owen shrugged, staring up at the overhead monitors in the loading area.

"Yep," Bret nodded softly, still looking somewhat disappointed the Bulldog had failed to come through, "Well, guess I'm up next."

"Just be careful, pal; Jake the Snake is one tough customer himself," Neidhart warned him.

"Trust me, Jim, I'm not taking Jake lightly," the Hitman's gaze turned a few feet away to the interview area, where a smirking Roberts was preparing to be interviewed by Sammartino. "Jake Roberts, you have a well-hyped match with Hitman Hart coming up next; how do you propose to face off with the Excellence of Execution that has among other things held the Intercontinental belt for so long," the interviewer asked him.

"Bret Hart can call himself whatever he wants; I'm not afraid of him, or anyone in his rotten family," Roberts said firmly, "And, I may point out, after I finish giving him the beating of a lifetime, well, it'll be open season..."

"Are you saying you're willing to go after the entire Hart family as well!? I can't believe you would be that sick...!" Sammartino protested.

"A snake, Bruno, is an apex predator; I go where I want, do what I want, and if want to prey on other people, I do," Roberts snapped back, "The Hitman is weak because he insists on playing nice, doing everything by the rules; well, in the real world, only the strong survive. And, as the apex predator here in the WWF, I make a career praying on the weak. And because I go by my own set of rules, I'm automatically superior to him. So, go ahead and step into the ring with me, Hitman," he glared in Bret's direction, "But keep in mind, a snake shows no mercy to its prey, and be sure that I'm going to do everything I can to poison you, your career, and everything you hold dear. Trust me. _Trust me..."_

He laughed coldly, hefted Damien's bag, and trudged off for the carts, casting Bret another dark glare before he climbed on board. "Well, he certainly means business," Owen gulped.

"Well, have to face him down; I issued the challenge to him, and you don't back down from a challenge-you OK there, pal?" Bret asked Davey as he came back through the curtain, rubbing his head.

"Basically. I can't believe he survived four powerslams, though!" Davey was just as shocked as everyone else in the building, "It never took more than two to do the job before..."

"Oh well, guess there's a first for everything," Neidhart shrugged, "Good work in there, though."

"Thanks, old chap. Well, I see some of us still have tough work to do," the Bulldog shot a glance at the scowling Roberts as the Snake's cart jerked forward through the curtain to his introduction: "The following contest is scheduled for one fall. Approaching the ringside area, from Stone Mountain, Georgia, weighing 249 pounds, Jake 'the Snake' Roberts!"

"My only concern is that he didn't switch Damien out for the cobra, or another poisonous snake," Bret shuddered at the thought, "If he ever threatened the kids with that thing, I'd never be able to live with myself."

"Well, looks like he won't be able to," the Anvil pointed at the overhead monitors, where Roberts was met by a frowning Tunney at the end of the aisle. The WWF president once again gestured firmly for Roberts to open his bag. Rolling his eyes in disgust, Roberts nonetheless opened it and dumped Damien to the ground, then turned the bag inside out, showing there were no other snakes inside. Nodding in satisfaction, Tunney gestured for him to put his pet back in before returning to his ringside seat. "That's a relief," the Hitman nodded, "Although, I hope he doesn't have another bag stashed elsewhere at ringside..."

"I'm ready, Mr. Hart," Okerlund called from his interview location. Bret bustled over to him and waited for the cue. "OK, Bret Hart, you just heard those threatening words from Jake 'the Snake' Roberts about what he intends to do to you in the ring for your match. Are you at all worried?"

"Let me tell you something, Gene; Jake the Snake may not be afraid of me, but I'm also not afraid of him," Bret said firmly into the camera, "And when it comes to my family, we may not be perfect, but we are still flesh and blood. And if you threaten them, you threaten me too. So Jake, I issued the challenge to you, and I intend to follow through on it and teach you a lesson that you deserve to learn. For too long you've been out of control here in the WWF, and slapping the DDT on Elizabeth in the Funeral Parlor was the last straw as far as I'm concerned. Today, on the greatest stage of wrestling, you WILL be excellently executed, because I am the best there is, the best there was, and the best there'll ever be. And before I go, Gene," he turned to Okerlund before he could say something to close the interview, "I'd like to dedicate this match to my wife Julie, who couldn't make it here tonight, as her sister needed her more right now; honey, I do love you," he looked straight into the camera, "And I'm going to win this one for you and the kids, so stay tuned."

He lowered his Hitman shades over his eyes and climbed aboard his cart. "Wish me luck," he told the New Foundation and Bulldog.

"Good luck," they gave him confident thumbs-up as the cart lurched towards the curtain. "Hart Beat" roared to life the moment it zipped through the curtain, and the Silverdome exploded all around him. "His opponent," Finkel's announcement echoed loudly even back by the curtain, "from Calgary, Alberta, Canada, weighing 234 pounds, Bret 'Hitman' Hart!"

"Thank you, Howard," Bret mumbled to himself, pointing with a grin at a particularly eager cheering section, "And someday soon, you'll be introducing me as world champion; I've got what it takes, and I'm going to reach the top of the mountain..."

He smiled as the cart reached ringside, and hopped down next to familiar faces. "Well, here I am," he told the rest of the Harts.

"We're all proud of you, Bret; you can beat him," Helen smiled herself, pulling him into a hug.

"Yep, Bret, take it to him; I know you can," Stu rubbed his hair, "And I..."

"DADDY LOOK OUT!" his son and daughter's cries came a split second too late after Roberts suddenly leaped off the apron and pounded Bret in the back of the head. Growling darkly, the Snake seized the nearby TV cable and started choking him out roughly with it. "STOP!" Jade was almost in tears.

"You want me to stop? You didn't say the magic word!" Roberts snarled, dragging Bret towards the ring and ramming him hard into the ringpost. "Yeah, go ahead and cry; it's not going to do you any good!" he barked coldly at her, "I'm going to beat your daddy so badly your grandkids'll be feeling it fifty years from now!"

Ignoring her terrified sobs, he kicked Bret hard in the chest, then smashed his face hard into the apron before finally rolling him into the ring. "Hitman finally in the ring after that Pearl Harbor job by the Snake, and already he's taken a real beating," Monsoon sighed into his headset.

"Well, Jake gave him fair warning that anything would go; it's not his fault if Hart wasn't prepared," Ventura yawned.

"Jake the Snake over the Hitman, who's still wearing his shades and ring jacket, kicking him mercilessly. Jake drops the elbow hard on him, and now he's going up to the top rope to try and inflict even more damage. Jake measures him and leaps...no, Hitman out of the way in time. Bret Hart in fact rolling completely out of the ring to get a breather..."

"I call it cowardice, Gorilla; after all that bravado about taking it to Jake, now he's running and hiding from him."

He is not! Hitman finally taking off the ring jacket and shades, which are going to...ah, that nice little guy right there," Monsoon grinned as Bret handed his shades to a boy of about three in his father's arms in the front row across from his family-a smile that quickly vanished as Roberts slithered out of the ring. "But look out, here comes Jake from behind, and he nails Bret with a dropkick, sending him over the railing into the front row!"

"Good alertness by Jake; if you have the advantage, you press it."

"Jake the Snake pulling out all the stops so far in this one. Hart stumbling, trying to get back into the ring; the count is now at four. He's over the railing, up on the apron, and through the ropes...and Jake clotheslines him right back out-and then hits him with a diving elbow off the apron! Jake the Snake laughing coldly as he lifts the Hitman up-oh no, drops him throat-first on the barrier railing there!"

"This could be a major upset; I don't think anyone expected the Hitman to be so throughly dominated in this one."

"Well what do you expect; Roberts Pearl Harbored him before he even got in the ring! Jake rolls him back into the ring now, slithers through the ropes himself, and now more kicks to the chest. Jake coolly confident, whips him into the ropes, and flattens him with a roundhouse right. Bret staggering, over at the ropes for a breather; Jake rushes him...and the Hitman shoves him over and out of the ring! That'll buy him some time."

"But will it matter? He's already taken a tremendous beating from Jake, and it might have taken too much out of him."

"Shot there of Stu and Helen, looking worried for their son's well-being. And Bret appears to be getting some strength back-and now he grabs Jake around the waist as he gets back up on the apron and suplexes him back into the ring! Hart looking a little confident now, climbing up to the top rope, and here he goes, down hard on Jake's chest. There's a cover: one, two...no."

"He's going to try for quick covers, I'll bet; that's the only way he'll be able to stop Jake."

"Hitman gives the Snake a backbreaker, and a beauty. Now he whips him hard into the corner, rushes-stops when Jake gets the legs up-and grabs the legs and snaps him down hard to the mat; listen to this crowd go wild! Momentum has swung in this one, and the Hitman hurls Jake into the opposite corner now too. Jake the Snake whipped into the ropes, hard kick to the chest, and Bret grabs the head and slams him down hard to the mat in a twisting neckbreaker. Another cover: one, two...rake of the eyes by Jake breaks the hold. And what's this?" he leaned forward, frowning at his monitor, "Jake going into his tights, looks like he has a vial of some kind there. He has it opened, Hitman turning around...look out, he's throwing it! Bret ducks in time...AND LOOK AT THAT!" he gasped, pointing at the vapors rising from the mat where the vial's liquid had landed, "THAT WAS ACID! JAKE THE SNAKE JUST TRIED TO THROW ACID IN BRET HART'S FACE!"

"Well, I can't condone that, Gorilla, but give Jake credit for original thinking there."

"Original thinking!? The man is criminally derranged! Hitman looking furious that Roberts would try to pull that, giving him hard left and rights, and now hauling him to the corner and smashing his head repeatedly off the turnbuckle..."

"He'd better be careful; he's risking a disqualification by being this rough."

"I'm willing to wager Roberts will be disqualified in this one before that happens. A suplex of Jake, and a beauty, and the Snake's groaning in agony now. Hart grabs the legs; I think we're going to see a slingshot now...yes! And now a leg sweep takes Jake down, and there's another cover: one, two...again the Snake just escapes. But the pendulum has swung, and the Excellence of Execution is now in control."

"Yeah, but for how long?"

"Neckbreaker on the Snake, and Bret now looking rather confident. Hard elbow to Roberts's chest, and now the Hitman going up to the top again. Here he comes...no, Jake rolls out of the way in time."

"If I were Jake, I'd do the same thing Hart did earlier and go out for a breather."

"And that appears to just what he's doing; Roberts rolling outside the ring for some fresh air. Hitman follows him, grabs him by the...no, Roberts reverses him and gives him a Bulldog on the mats!"

"Ah, just as I thought; playing possum just like a snake. When you corner them, that's when they're most dangerous."

"Jake the Snake with a cold look towards Stu and Helen as he yanks their son up, and here comes a suplex outside the ring, and a beauty. Picks him up again-oh no, suplexes him right against the side of the ring this time! Hitman groaning in agony from that unorthodox maneuver-and now a third suplex onto the barricades! This is taking a real toll on his back..."

"Well all he has to do to stop it, Gorilla, is wave the hand in surrender, and maybe Jake'll show him some mercy."

"The Hitman does not surrender, and Jake the Snake has never shown any mercy to his opponents. Jake now going over...uh oh, he's getting a steel chair ready...!"

"Here comes the venom-yeah!" Ventura clapped as Roberts belted Bret hard with the chair not once but twice.

"How can you condone this, Jesse!? Jake the Snake has been fighting dirty all through this match. And look at this, Jake picking up the ring steps; I think he's going to use those as a weapon too! Referee yelling down at him, warning him he'll be disqualified if he does. Roberts glaring at him, but in fact puts the steps down. He picks the Hitman up-and then smashes his face into the steps anyway. Roberts rolls Hart into the ring, climbs in himself, drops the elbow hard into the back, going over...and look out, he's taking the cover off that top turnbuckle; I don't like the looks of this..."

"Again, Gorilla, you win any way you can."

"Don't remind me. The steel bolt is now exposed, and the Snake drags the Hitman over to smash his face into it...no, Bret blocks against the ropes, he's fighting it...no, Jake too strong, and the Hitman smashed into the exposed steel. Jake the Snake laughing coldly, whips him hard into the corner...and now the next...and the third...and the fourth. Bret Hart looking dazed; he's taken a hard beating in this one so far."

"And like I said, all he has to do to stop it is say to that ref, 'I quit.'"

"And I say again, the Hitman has never quit before in his life, and he's not going to quit now, in front of the biggest audience in the history of professional wrestling. But he's being set up for another suplex-wait, Jake not quite ready, goes out of the ring-uh oh, here's that steel chair again, he's laying on the mat, cinching Hart into position; this is going to be painful...Roberts suplexes the Hitman head-first onto that steel chair; this is getting really out of hand by Jake! The Snake pounds Bret's head into the steel chair again and again, and now rolls him over and kicks him repeatedly in the chest."

"Jake came prepared, that's all I have to say."

"And uh oh, looks like he's setting the Hitman up for that patented short clothesline-there it is. And we all know that's the setup for the DDT."

"And Roberts gives the finger twirl; he's going to go for it."

"Jake Roberts looking almost bored as he hooks the Hitman into position for the DDT. Here it comes...WAIT A MINUTE, BRET HART REVERSES THE HOLD AND PULLS HIM DOWN, AND HE'S GOT THE SNAKE IN A SMALL PACKAGE! ONE, TWO, HE GOT HIM!"

"I can't believe it!" Ventura was stunned as the building erupted in cheers, "How did he do that!?"

"Because he is the Excellence of Execution, and can never be counted out. Hitman winded but victorious, climbing out of the ring to give his visibly relieved kids a victory hug there. Let's go back to the replay and see how it went down: Roberts was just about to give the DDT, but it looks like he wasn't holding the head firmly enough, allowing Bret to slip out the back door and pull him down into a small package, which proved enough for the victory. Wait a minute," he frowned back at the ring, "Roberts going for Damien's bag with a furious expression; he'd better not be bringing that snake out now..."

"So what; Damien isn't poisonous."

"The bag is open, and Damien is out. Roberts fuming, here he comes from behind with that python...!"

Unlike at the beginning of the match, however, Bret turned around and decked his foe hard in the chest before he could strike. He flung Damien back into the ring and drove Roberts's head into the mat. "OK, Jake," he growled, sezied the Snake's legs, "I've had enough of your tactics. Prepare to be excellently executed."

"Yeah, give it to him, Daddy!" Dallas encouraged him on. Bret gave his son a warm smile, then twisted Roberts's legs into the Sharpshooter. "Take as many pictures as you want," he told the rest of his family, pouring the Sharpshooter on full blast, "I'm not letting him go until he screams uncle."

"I'm not begging, and I'm not cracking!" Roberts shouted defiantly, but he visibly grimaced with pain.

"Oh I think you will," Bret tightened the Sharpshooter.

"Yep, Roberts, you will," Stu grinned himself, putting an arm around Helen as she took a picture of the Sharpshooter being applied to the Snake, "Because I taught Bret how to maximize the Sharpshooter, and everyone cracks in the end."

"Bret, you're going to have to let him go eventually, the match is over," Tunney approached, shaking his head.

"I will, Mr, Tunney, just give me two minutes with him," Bret requested. Tunney glanced down at Roberts, then nodded softly and returned to his seat. "Look at this, this is a disgrace!" Ventura was livid as he watched everything unfold on his monitor, "I can't believe Tunney would allow Jake to be manhandled like this!"

"You saw Jake try to throw acid in Bret's face during the match; plus, he threatened his family and kids, this is justice, pure and simple," Monsoon was nonplussed, "We're about halfway through Wrestlemania now, with lots more big matches to come, including, coming up next, the battle for the Million Dollar Belt..."


	8. Chapter 8

"Great work there, Hartsy," a grinning Piper was the first to congratulate Bret as he got off the cart, "He had that coming for a long time now."

"It was a fight, but I'm satisfied," Bret nodded, wiping sweat from his brow, "Take care with DiBiase, Roddy."

"Oh you know it," the Scotsman told him with a wry smile, "Teddy Boy's had his comeuppance coming for a long time now too, and what better way to do it than taking away his precious Million Dollar Belt? Since his money cheated Hulk out of the world title, better to relieve him of his own. And with my secret weapon, he won't know what hit him."

"And what is your secret weapon, Roddy?"

"Well if I told you, Hartsy, it wouldn't be a secret, would it?" Piper sprung up onto the cart, "Wish me luck."

"Mr. Hart, I have a phone call from your wife on hold over here," a building official called from around the corner, holding the phone in question. Bret bustled over and picked it up. "Hello there, Julie; surprised you were able to get through; usually the phones are ringing off the hooks during a pay-per-view. Oh, I see. Well, if you and Michelle were watching...yeah, I meant every word I said, honey," he nodded, starting to smile himself, "I did go out and win this one for you and the kids. They're doing fine, although Jake gave them a bit of a scare when he first jumped me. I will; they'll be glad to hear you called..."

* * *

"Hey, Ms. Martel," one of Don Vincenelli's thugs came running up to Sherri from her position around the corner from the interview area, "The Boss wanted you to have..."

"Shhhh," she hiseed at him, "Okerlund and a camera crew's right around the corner; you want to get exposed?"

"Sorry. The boss wanted you to take this to the ring," he slipped a vial into her hand, "Hit Piper with this when you get the chance; it'll slow him down enough to get beat easy; even if the Million Dollar Belt wasn't included in the boss's bet with Tunney, it's imperative for us DiBiase keeps it."

"We'll do everything we can to hold on to it," she assured him, "Now beat it, I've got business to take care of."

Shrugging, the thug bustled off. Sherri turned her gaze back around the corner, where Okerlund was about to start interviewing the Rockers, the tag belts draped triumphantly over their shoulders. "All right, I'm here with the new WWF tag team champions, Shawn Michaels and Marty Jannetty; all the hard work has finally paid off, and you've got the gold-and, most impressively, you did it in less than a minute. How does it feel?"

"It feels terrific, Gene; like you said, this is the culmination of a long, hard climb," Michaels declared proudly, rubbing his title belt, "And as captain of the Rockers, let me say that the sky's the limit for..."

"Whoa, hold on, Shawn, captain of the Rockers?" Jannetty raised an eyebrow, "I thought we were in this together?"

"Oh, of course, Marty; just a little slip in the heat of the moment," Michaels said quickly, "For all you other tag teams out there," he glanced straight into the camera with a big grin, "The gold's right here; if you want it, come and get it."

"But rest assured it won't be easy, because we're not giving up what we worked so hard to earn; the Rockers never give up without a fight, especially as champions," Jannetty added, pumping his fist in excitement.

"Well gentlemen, I do wish you a long and prosperous reign as tag team champions; few deserve the honor more than either of you. And Gorilla," Okerlund turned to the camera himself, "I do believe these two will be very hard to topple indeed. Back to you and Jesse."

He lowered his microphone and shook hands with each Rocker. Sherri slipped further back around the corner and waited until Michaels and Jannetty came around it with the belts. "Well, congratulations, both of you," she exclaimed, stepping forward to shake both their hands, "I knew you could do it..."

"Aren't you supposed to be in league with Blassie?" Jannetty frowned.

"Don't get me started on Freddie; he's an insensitive, sexist louse," she grumbled from the heart, "Anyway, now that you guys are champs, everyone else in the tag team division's going to be coming after you. If either of you have ever been looking into guidance from here on, I'd be more than willing to offer my managerial services. With me as your manager, I can guarantee you'll have the longest reign as champions that..."

"Sorry, Miss Martel, but we're not looking for any managers at this time," Jannetty held up his hands and shook his head.

"Well let's give her a chance to state her case, Marty; I mean, she does have some successful managing experience with Macho," Michaels countered.

"Aren't you forgetting, Shawn, she turned on Macho. Sorry, but the answer's no," Jannetty emphasized to her, "Now if you'll excuse us, we've got a big rocking celebration to have with the rest of the boys in the locker room."

The two of them walked off with the belts, Michaels taking a brief look back at Sherri before disappearing into the locker room. "Figures," she grumbled, slugging the wall, "My best pitch, and that doesn't even work...!"

"Ah, there you are, Sherri; come on, we've got an interview before we go out," came Jimmy's voice from up the hall behind her, where he, DiBiase, Virgil, and Irwin R. Shyster in his tie, suspenders, and glasses were striding forward. Sherri pocketed the vial into her purse and followed them over to Okerlund at the interview area. "I'm here now with the Million Dollar Man, Ted DiBiase, who in a few moments will be putting his Million Dollar Belt on the line against 'Rowdy' Roddy Piper. Mr. DiBiase, you accepted Roddy Piper's challenge for the title after he specifically requested it be placed on the line here at Wrestlemania; do you feel that was a wise decision."

"Let me tell you something, Okerlund you nickel-and-dime peon; if you think I consider Roddy Piper any kind of threat, you have less brains inside your head than you have hair on it," DiBiase said confidently, "This belt, made of the purest gold and finest diamonds," he gestured at his own personal title around his waist, "Can only be worn by the best of champions, and that is me, Okerlund. Because the World Wrestling Federation conspired to keep me from buying the world championship, I set about creating a superior championship, one that would put all existing titles to shame. And although I don't back down from challenges like the one Piper made, there is no way I'm going to give up MY title as long as there's a drop of blood in my body. And Piper," his gaze shot towards the Scotsman waiting on the cart nearby, "You've been saying I need to be taught a lesson; well, it's you that's going to get schooled in that ring."

He laughed hard. "And my support team here," he gestured at his entourage, "Will make good and sure of it. I have the Mouth of the South, the best manager money can buy," he rubbed Jimmy on the shoulder, "I have the Sensational Queen, who will do anything for a man with as much money as I do," he did the same to Sherri, "And I have Irwin here, my personal tax man for the last seven years, and who, I might point out, aced his wrestling entrance test and will be joining Jimmy's First Family here in the WWF within the next week."

"That's right, baby; I.R.S. is going to be a great addition to the First Family, and he'll be in Ted's corner too when he's not wrestling," Jimmy bragged, pulling I.R.S. close.

"I see. Irwin R. Shyster, we at the WWF do welcome you, unpleasant though some of your tactics may be," Okerlund frowned at the tax agent, "Do you have anything to say to the viewing audience out there?"

"Tax deadline day is less than a month away, so get up off your fat rear ends once this event is over and start paying your taxes!" I.R.S. warned the viewing audience sharply. Okerlund shook his head softly. "And, also, I see Virgil is back from his suspension; Virgil, do you have a game plan on how to protect your boss from Roddy Piper this evening?" he asked the bodyguard, who appeared to be frowning over having been forgotten in his boss's introductions earlier.

"I'll answer that," DiBiase leaned in front of the microphone before Virgil could get a word out, "I'm certainly glad to have Virgil back protecting me; he was railroaded by Jack Tunney as a sacrificial lamb for Hogan's false charges..."

"What false charges, Ted DiBiase? We had positive proof that you paid off Earl Hebner to throw Hulk Hogan's match with Ric Flair...!"

"Oh sure, just be a good automaton and believe everything Hogan tells you, Okerlund. Did it ever occur to you that he may have paid that lookalike whom I never saw before in my life before that night to come out after the match just to confuse the issue?"

"Now wait just a minute here...!"

"I'm done waiting," the Million Dollar Man interrupted, "I've got everyone in my corner, including Virgil, the best protection money can buy, and it's time to teach Piper that this is MY title, and he can't have it-unless he's willing to give up his price for me, the Million Dollar Man."

He laughed hard again. "You tell him, Ted baby; let's go get him!" Jimmy declared, leading him towards the cart next to Piper's. "Ted DiBiase very confident that he can defend the Million Dollar Belt against Roddy Piper, and at least numerically, the odds appear in his favor," Okerlund concluded with a shake of the head, "Back to you, Gorilla."

"All right, thanks, Gene; at this time we would like to welcome here to the broadcast position Jerry 'the King' Lawler, who has just joined the World Wrestling Federation out of the Memphis territory, and will be helping call some matches when not in the ring. He will be helping Jesse and I call the next couple of matches to get broken in; King, it is glad to have you here," Monsoon extended an arm to the smug-looking man wearing a crown now seated between he and Ventura.

"Don't mention it, Gorilla; the pleasure's all mine," Lawler declared without shaking back, "First off, I'd like to put forth my first royal decree: as I am the true king of wrestling, I have hereby challenged that imposter Harley Race to a match for the royal title on the next Saturday Night's Main Event; the loser must forever surrender the honor."

"Whoa, you're taking a big risk there, Jerry; are you sure you want to put your crown on the line so soon after coming here to the WWF like that?" Ventura asked with concern.

"Of course, Ventura; there's no way I can lose," Lawler declared confidently.

"Well, you may win, King, but if you do, I'm willing to place a small wager that the Heenan Family will then lose a hithertofore key component," Monsoon remarked with a small grin, "Anyway, getting to the matter at hand, the upcoming match for the Million Dollar Belt; how do you see that one going?"

"That's easy; DiBiase retains in a landslide," Lawler predicted smugly, "I've known Jimmy Hart for years going back to when he was riding high in Memphis, and he knows how to get a man ready, especially someone as talented as the Million Dollar Man. And if that crazy kook Roddy Piper thinks he's even entitled to DiBiase's Million Dollar Belt, he should get committed."

"I like the way you think, Jerry," smiling, Ventura shook his hand firmly, "You and I are going to make beautiful music together here in the WWF."

"God help us all," Monsoon muttered under his breath as the bell rang for the next match. "The following contest is for the Million Dollar Belt, scheduled for one fall," Finkel declared in the ring, "Introducing first: making his way to ringside with his manager, the Mouth of the South Jimmy Hart, his personal bodyguard, Virgil, Sensational Queen Sherri, and his tax agent, Irwin R. Shyster, better known as I.R.S.; making his spring residence in Palm Beach, Florida, weighing 260 pounds, here is the self-proclaimed Million Dollar Champion, the Million Dollar Man, Ted DiBiase!"

"Confident look on the Million Dollar Man's face as he gets zipped towards ringside; give him credit at least for being willing to put the Million Dollar Belt on the line here," Monsoon conceded, "So far, everytime someone wanted a challenge, he turned tail and hid behind Virgil."

"Well, from what I hear, Piper hit below the belt to get him to put it on the line here, so he had no choice but to do it," Lawler stated, "Anyway, who doesn't love that theme song? 'Some might cost a little; some might cost a lot. But I'm the Million Dollar Man, and you WILL be bought!'"

He laughed along with DiBiase's diabolical laughter on the loudspeakers. "Cute, King, very cute," Monsoon sighed, "For all you viewers at home, there's your first glimpse of Irwin R. Shyster, a.k.a. 'I.R.S.,' right there on the cart, who, as noted backstage, will be joining the WWF in the weeks to come, and will be working with Ted DiBiase at least at first."

"He and DiBiase'll make a great team, Monsoon; call them, 'Money, Incorporated,' if you will," Lawler declared grandly.

"Money, Incorporated? Nah, that'll never stick," Monsoon shook his head, "Virgil also back in the fold after his one month suspension for locking Dave Hebner in the locker until twin brother Earl threw the Hogan-Flair match. And Virgil with a determined expression as he takes the Million Dollar Belt from his boss and holds it high...but will this be the last time DiBiase's camp will have it for the near term? It's going out onto the timekeeper's table now, to await the winner of the bout, either DiBiase, or the man soon to enter the Silverdome..."

The bagpipes almost immediately cranked up, sending the crowd into a roar. Piper had apparently decided against using the cart to enter at the last moment, for he instead strode firmly on foot up the aisle towards the ring, a determined scowl welded to his face. "His opponent, and challenger," Finkel announced, "from Glasgow, Scotland, weighing 232 pounds, 'Rowdy' Roddy Piper!"

"Boy does Hot Rod ever look ready. Even with all the extra muscle in his corner, the Million Dollar Man's going to have to work overtime to put this guy away,' Monsoon predicted.

"Well, like Jerry just said, Piper's insane if he thinks DiBiase's just going to give up the belt that he spent all his time and money creating without giving up his life first," Ventura countered.

"Sure, he spent all his time and money making it-which means he didn't earn it, as Piper will if he wins this one."

"Unless he resorts to blatant cheating, as he's been wont to do since he came under Hogan's thumb..."

"Not nearly as much as before he and the former champion got to be teammates. In fact, let us not forget that Hot Rod's doing this for his teammate the Hulkster; since DiBiase's meddling helped cost the Hulkster the world title, Hot Rod's going to repay the favor by costing DiBiase his own title. Both men just about out of their ring suits as the bell rings; they're exchanging some heated words with each other in there already, and here they go into a lock-up to start things off in this one..."

"And DiBiase with a hard shove that sends Piper sprawling; you can tell he's good and ready to fight to the bitter end," Lawler declared.

"DiBiase dives towards Piper, ready to drop the elbow...nope, Roddy with a monkey flip that sends the Million Dollar Man flying," Monsoon remarked, "Jimmy Hart yelling some encouraging words at his man through the megaphone, which aren't going all that over so far, though, as Piper hauls him up and slaps on the abdominal stretch. DiBiase grimacing, trying to pull away...and he does; they both go over the top and out!"

"Good alertness by DiBiase; he knew he had to break the hold somehow, and getting out of the ring was the best way to do it," Ventura nodded firmly.

"DiBiase first to his feet, prepares to smash Piper's face into the apron-no, Hot Rod fighting it, pressing his palm into the apron to block..."

"DiBiase too strong, though, and Piper's got a big headache," Lawler grinned seconds after Piper's head was smashed into the apron, "Anyone out there got some aspirin for the poor guy?"

"Will you stop, King! DiBiase now pulling Piper forward; I think he's going to ram him into the ringpost...but look at that, Piper reverses it and rams him into the post instead! Hot Rod spins him around, scoops him up, and a big suplex on the Million Dollar Man...but look out, here comes I.R.S. from behind-and he nails Piper in the back of the head with that steel briefcase of his!" Monsoon groaned.

"Well, Piper always IS a bit of a hardcase, you know," Lawler snickered.

"I said will you stop! DiBiase back to his feet, shaking the tax man's hand, now rolling Piper back into the ring. I don't like to complain, but just look at the odds against Hot Rod at ringside; you've got Irwin, who really has no business being here in the first place..."

"What do you mean he's got no business, Gorilla; DiBiase signed an official contract that Shyster could be out at ringside for this match as an observer," the Body countered.

"Except, Jesse, he was anything but a neutral observer a few moments ago. And then of course you've got Virgil, who's a terrible piece of muscle, even if he's looking rather bored right now; you've got that psychotic witch Queen Sherri, and you've got the Mouth, still barking out instructions at the Million Dollar Man in the ring."

"Since, as I noted, Gorilla, I've worked with him for years, I can tell you exactly what he's telling DiBiase right now; to wear Piper down to the bone before finishing him with the Million Dollar Dream so he has no chance of a comeback," Lawler predicted.

"We shall see about that, King; in the meantime, DiBiase certainly going for a weardown of Hot Rod, starting with a backbreaker, and a beauty. DiBiase grinning, whipping Piper hard into the ropes, and now a hard running clothesline to the head that snaps it back and almost lifts him off his feet. DiBiase up on Piper's shoulders and pounding away: three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen...he's well over the legal limit himself now..."

"It's his Million Dollar title on the line, Gorilla; he's going to go the extra mile to keep it whether you like it or not," Ventura pointed out.

"Don't remind me. Million Dollar Man pulls Piper out of the corner...wait, Piper reverses...DiBiase reverses again...Piper reverses again, and...and DiBiase with one last reversal that sends him hard into the far corner...but DiBiase misses the charge this time! Piper grabs the arm, whips him into the ropes, and sets him...no, DiBiase tricks him with a boot to the face before he can deliver."

"Piper made a cardinal mistake there, he took his eyes off the Million Dollar Man."

"Indeed he did, and DiBiase now setting up for a suplex...spot on. DiBiase with a cover: one, two...just kicked out there; that hand was about to hit for three. A closeup there of Sherri encouraging the Million Dollar Man on; she has said she'd want to work with him more often, but thus far has been rebuked on that matter by WWF officials, on the grounds that DiBiase would then have too many regular people in his corner for matches."

"And let me just say for the record I think that's a stupid rule," Lawler complained, "If you have people you trust, who can help you win a match, of course they should be allowed at ringside, no matter who else is backing you up."

"Well, King, you are entitled to your opinion. Irish whip off the ropes by DiBiase now-and a vicious clothesline sends Piper down hard. DiBiase drops the elbow onto the Scotsman's head, and now a second one. Million Dollar Man on fire so far in this one-look at him miming putting the Million Dollar Belt on-but he hasn't won it yet. Another whip of Piper into the ropes, and a hard slap to the face...but look at that, Hot Rod hardly felt it-and now he slaps DiBiase back just as hard...and then follows it up with a harder clothesline that floors him!"

"Whoa, who knew Hot Rod had that much gas left in the tank?" Ventura was surprised.

"It doesn't matter Jesse; he took too much of a beating already," Lawler tried to rationalize.

"Doesn't look like it to me, guys; Hot Rod stomping hard in the groin area; DiBiase looking very pained right now," Monsoon grinned, "Piper whips him into the ropes, jumps over him on the rebound, jumps over him again-and delivers a hard drop kick to the face that sends him flying clean out of the ring! Piper diving through the middle ropes right on top of DiBiase..."

"Well he can't beat him out there; he'd better get him back in the ring if he wants the Million Dollar Belt," the King pointed out.

"I do believe Hot Rod is very much aware of that, King; he's softening him up first, starting with this scoop slam. Piper slugging the Million Dollar Man in the face; Virgil slips around the corner, but he seems to be just watching; that's a bit surprising."

"Yeah, I know, Gorilla," Ventura was frowning, "Ordinarily, Virgil would come right over and pound the other guy's brains in..."

"Not to worry, Jesse; he's simply waiting to see if Piper gets too much of an advantage," Lawler supposed.

"Well if so, he'd better step in soon; Piper slams DiBiase's head into those steel steps," Monsoon called it, "DiBiase stumbling outside the ring; the count is at five now; Piper slipping back into the ring, and he pulls DiBiase up through the ropes as well to break the count-and then clotheslines him over the top and right back out...and then jumps off the railing and nails him with an axhandle; Hot Rod is very hot at the moment..."

"I didn't agree with that one at all; if you're trying to get him back into the ring, you keep him in the ring!" Lawler complained.

"I don't think that's how it works at all, King. Piper gives the Million Dollar Man an atomic drop outside the ring; DiBiase staggering around the corner, right into Sherri; he's hanging over her shoulder, looking...hang on," Monsoon leaned forward, frowning at the monitor, "Looks like she's taking something out of her purse there...a glove, and she's putting it on his hand there..."

"Well, if his hand's cold, might as well warm it up," Lawler shrugged.

"That glove looks loaded to me, King," Monsoon squinted at the image on his screen with an even deeper scowl, "Ted DiBiase well known for using loaded gloves to win matches in the territories, and it looks like he's about to introduce one here. Roddy reaches him spins him around to..."

"Whoops!" DiBiase shouted mockingly, belting Piper across the face with the loaded glove, which sent him crumpling to the floor. Laughing, the Million Dollar Man handed Sherri the glove back and rolled Piper back into the ring. "DiBiase back in control, and the referee saw none of that..." Monsoon sighed.

"Of course he didn't; I.R.S. was up on the apron finding a place to put his briefcase," Lawler protested.

"And you can bet that was all part of Jimmy Hart's master plan to keep the Million Dollar Belt on the Million Dollar Man's waist. Ted DiBiase going up to the top rope now, measuring Roddy Piper, and here he comes, driving the knees hard into the chest. He hooks the leg: one, two...no; another escape at the last minute by Hot Rod. DiBiase seems a bit surprised the loaded glove didn't finish him, but of course, Hot Rod rarely gives up that easily. Right now, though, he's getting punched repeatedly in the face...and now I think DiBiase has a chokehold locked on..."

"Of course not, Gorilla; you must be seeing things," the Body laughed at him.

"Oh really? DiBiase with an unmistakable headbutt to follow that up, and now he's stomping on the chest. DiBiase miming putting the Million Dollar Belt back on, now hauling Hot Rod up and whipping him hard into the corner, followed by an elbow to the face. DiBiase off the ropes, goes airborne, and down hard on Piper's chest. Another cover: one, two...again Piper survives. DiBiase looking just a little frustrated at the moment, a pair of hard chops to the face, and a kick to the chest sends Piper sprawling into the corner...and come on, I.R.S. with a bunch of cheap shots on him; come on ref, turn around!"

"He can't; Sherri's yelling something at him that's got to be important or something," Lawler pointed at the opposite corner.

"I'll bet; she's taking her turn to distract him. Virgil standing nearby, again just watching. I.R.S. pausing as if to give him a chance to get involved, but no action on Virgil's part this time, and DiBiase now setting Hot Rod up for a neckbreaker..."

"Bingo! Now that's how you do a neckbreaker!" Lawler applauded once DiBiase had slammed Piper hard to the mat with it.

"Beautiful, Ted baby, beautiful; finish him off!" Jimmy could be audibly heard shouting instructions over the megaphone at the broadcast position. DiBiase obligingly climbed up to the top rope. "DiBiase setting up for that backwards diving elbow of his, but I'm not sure if that's a good idea," Monsoon shook his head, "That hasn't worked for him in a while now."

"Don't put the move down, Gorilla; he's made a career out of using it, and it wouldn't be in his repertoire if it didn't work," Ventura shot back.

"But look, he's taking too much time up there again, miming putting the belt on and shouting at the crowd to stop booing him. Finally here he comes with the elbow...but I was right, he took too much time!" Monsoon roared as Piper rolled out of the way of the elbow. "Hot Rod stumbling to his feet..."

"DiBiase up first, though, and look, he's slapping on the Million Dollar Dream!" Ventura grinned, "See, that miss was just to set Piper up for the Dream..."

"Maybe not, Piper not only fighting the Dream, he's twisting around...and look at this, he's got the sleeper locked on DiBiase at the same time!" Monsoon bellowed, "Listen to this crowd going crazy; both men applying their finishers on each other; will the Million Dollar Dream or the sleeper hold win out? Both men straining, their legs appear to be getting rubbery; I think they're both going out..."

"And of course if they both go out, DiBiase retains the Million Dollar Belt, so I think he'll take that finish," Lawler stated.

"Just so long as he doesn't go to sleep, but DiBiase appears to be weakening..."

"So what, Piper is too."

"Both men starting to slide down; who will go out first...doesn't matter in the end, as Virgil yanks Piper's legs out from under him, and down both men go."

"Finally, good old Virgil stands up for his boss; I was starting to get a little worried there for a while," Ventura looked relieved.

"DiBiase not looking all that well at the moment, though...and look at this, Piper crawling over, and he's got the cover; this could be it...!"

"No it ain't it," the Body snickered as DiBiase kicked out at the last second.

"Hot Rod hauls DiBiase up; a kick to the chest, a right hook to the face, and a whips into the ropes-whoa, big spinning kick sends the Million Dollar Man reeling. DiBiase off the ropes again-Piper throws him high over his head. Another cover: one, two...Sherri grabs the legs and tries to pull him off. Uh oh, she made Piper mad, though, and here he comes out of the ring...!"

"He'd better not lay a hand on her; he'll get tossed if he does," Lawler warned, "And I think he's making a big mistake taking his eyes off DiBiase..."

"DiBiase in fact getting to his feet, here he comes out onto the apron, he leaps...no, Piper turns around and decks him hard in the chest! Sherri going through her purse again; I can't quite see what she's got there now. Hot Rod smashes DiBiase's face into the timekeeper's table; Jimmy Hart yelling at his man to get back into it. Roddy staring at the Mouth...and look out, he shoves DiBiase right at him, and both of them go down!"

"That's terrible; Jimmy Hart wasn't doing anything wrong there!" Ventura complained.

"DiBiase rolled back into the ring," Monsoon ignored him, "Sherri coming up from behind, she thrusts whatever she's carrying at Piper, but misses him. Hot Rod out of range anyhow, going over to the far corner...and here comes the Mouth of the South from behind with the megaphone raised; now he's certainly going to do something...no he's not; Hot Rod turns and sees him, and he grabs him by the collar and yanks him up...!"

"I WASN'T DOING NOTHING! I WASN'T DOING NOTHING!" Jimmy frantically protested. Unconvinced, Piper rammed him head-first into the top turnbuckle, then climbed up the ringpost to the top, lifted the Mouth of the South over his head, and dove off the top rope, ramming Jimmy like a missile head-first into DiBiase's chest. "What a terrific inventive move there by Hot Rod that might well have incapacitated the Million Dollar Man; listen to this crowd go wild!" Monsoon was impressed.

"That should be an automatic disqualification; you should not be allowed to use a manager as a lethal weapon!" Lawler protested.

"Piper with the cover on DiBiase: one, two...Jimmy Hart with enough sense left to shove him off his man. Piper irate, and gives the Mouth a shove of his own. Sherri up in the corner, holding whatever she's got, I still can't make it out, calling for Hart to bring Roddy over that way, and the Mouth dragging him over towards...no, Piper reverses, and he bumps Sherri off the apron!"

"This is getting ridiculous; I agree with Jerry, Piper should be DQed this instant for assaulting DiBiase's ring crew!" Ventura complained.

"That was self-defense, as if you couldn't see. I.R.S. now coming into the ring as well with that briefcase raised high; referee blocking his path, ordering him out. DiBiase starting to get to his feet; I.R.S. refusing to leave-and Piper slingshotting Jimmy Hart at him to get him out the hard way, and they impact and go down...look out, Irwin takes the ref down too..."

"Stupid Piper, I bet he did that on purpose to take the ref out of the equation!" Lawler grumbled.

"Now come on you guys, that was an accident; the ref already starting to get...wait a minute, DiBiase picking up Jimmy Hart's megaphone from the apron," Monsoon frowned, "Here he comes towards Hot Rod from behind, no, don't turn around, Roddy...!"

But it was to no avail, as Piper did turn, and was immediately walloped in the face with the megaphone by DiBiase. With another diabolical laugh, DiBiase took note of the referee just about at his feet by the ropes, tossed the megaphone to Virgil just outside the ring, and dove on top of the prostrate Piper for the cover...

...when suddenly, without warning, Virgil reached into the ring and gave both men a hard shove. "Wait a minute, what's this, Virgil just rolled them over!" Monsoon was shocked, "Referee turns and sees Piper on top, here he goes for the count...!"

"No, not like this, don't count this cover!" Lawler screeched desperately, "DiBiase's the one on top, you fool...!"

"Not anymore: there's the one, the two, AND THREE! WE HAVE A NEW MILLION DOLLAR CHAMPION!"

"WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED HERE!" Ventura was irate, "What in God's name was Virgil trying to do there!"

"Whatever it was, it must have had its desired effect; Virgil going over to the timekeeper's table to collect the Million Dollar Belt. Here comes Sherri, looking stunned; she grabs the belt and tries to pull it away...and Virgil shoves her to the floor!"

"What is he doing! Did Piper brainwash him or something!" the Body bellowed.

"Look at this, Virgil into the ring, and he raises Piper's hand! I can't believe I'm seeing this! Look at DiBiase; he's just as furious as he watches his bodyguard hand Piper the belt now. Let's go to Howard for the official call..."

"Ladies and gentlemen," Finkel announced to the crowd, "The winner of this bout, and NEEEEEEEWWW Million Dollar Champion, 'Rowdy' Roddy Piper!"

**"WHAT! WHAT!"** a livid DiBiase shouted in his face. Grabbing the microphone off Finkel, he stormed over, slapped the Million Dollar Belt out of Piper's hands, decked him hard into the ropes, then slapped Virgil hard across the face. "Virgil, what is the meaning of this!" he demanded to the bodyguard, "I pay you well to back up ME! I own you, you do exactly what I say, and I don't care what the official decision is, that is MY belt!" he gestured at the Million Dollar Belt on the mat, "and it's staying with me! You hear me, Virgil?" he belted the bodyguard hard across the face, "You will NOT give away my title, no matter what the referee says! Now, PICK...UP...MY...BELT!"

Scowling Virgil nonetheless complied. "Good," DiBiase extended his hand, "Now, give it to me!"

Virgil indeed did give it to him: he belted DiBiase across the face with the Million Dollar Belt, then grabbed the microphone off him. "I...QUIT!" he roared in the Million Dollar Man's face, garnering a tremendous ovation from the crowd. He then shoved DiBiase clear out of the ring to an even bigger applause. "How about that; Virgil offering his resignation from Ted DiBiase's services in a most dramatic fashion!" Monsoon shouted excitedly, "I.R.S. leading the rest of the Million Dollar Man's entourage into the ring; I think they're going to take the belt back by force...Virgil turns and sees them, and he picks I.R.S. up and slams him! Sherri picks up Irwin's briefcase and swings it at Virgil; Roddy back to his feet and plows into the Mouth of the South, who topples over and takes Sherri down with him! The Queen stumbling into the ropes; Hot Rod lifts Jimmy Hart over his head again, and hurls him hard into Sherri, and they both go out of the ring!"

"I can't believe I'm seeing this! That has to be an impostor Virgil; Piper must have paid for plastic surgery to set this up!" Ventura shouted.

"I don't think so, Jesse; Virgil giving Piper the Million Dollar Belt and raising his hand again! What a magic moment, as Virgil, after all this time simply being DiBiase's enforcer, finally stands up for himself, and gets his dignity back."

"What dignity? He's disgraced himself doing this; DiBiase's going to make sure he never works in wrestling again for this betrayal," a bitter Lawler grumbled.

"I'd just like to see him try, King. 'Rowdy' Roddy Piper is in fact now the new Million Dollar champion, and Virgil now holding the ropes for him; I think he's found himself a better price for a better employer. Hot Rod looking thrilled, he raises Virgil's hand in turn as they climb on the cart for the exit. DiBiase back in the ring, sputtering in rage, but it's too late now; Piper and Virgil leaving the Silverdome together, with the Million Dollar Belt. We'll try to get an interview as soon as possible to see what the story here was, but the simple fact is, we've just had our second title change of the evening. Plenty of more action is coming your way soon; we have the Intercontinental title on the line very shortly, followed by that tremendous twelve man tag match, and of course the main event, Ric Flair versus Randy Savage for the world title. Coming up next, though, a very intense haircut match between Brutus Beefcake and the Honky Tonk Man, so don't go away..."


	9. Chapter 9

He had only enough time to won

"Well, how about that," Hulk grinned at the footage of Piper and Virgil leaving the Silverdome together on the plane's overhead TV, "Who knew Virgil had a heart?" He leaned over the front seat. "That was good, wasn't it, Timmy?"

"Sure was, Hulk," the boy gave him a thumbs-up, "How much longer till we're there?"

"Well, I think that looks like Lake Erie down there," Hulk glanced out the window, "So probably we're no more than twenty minutes away, which should get us to ringside in no time."

No sooner were the words out of his mouth, however, than the plane's intercom buzzed to life. "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking," the pilot announced, "Due to heavy rains over Detroit, our landing will be delayed by an estimated half hour. We apologize for any inconvenience."

"Great," Hulk slapped his hand to his face, "We can't afford any delays! Hope it's only a half hour..."

* * *

"Aspirin, boss? Looks like you need it," one of Don Vincenelli's bodyguards extended a bottle towards him. Still staring straight ahead with a furious expression on his face, the don snatched the bottle away, dumped the maximum dose into his hand, and swallowed it whole. "I'll hold it for you in case you need it later, Killer," he told his pet porcupine in his lap, "This isn't at all going as I hoped."

"You got that right, D.V.; with half of our guys losing, we're losing a big payout so far," Slick shook his head at his computer.

"Good thing in the end we didn't make the Million Dollar Belt part of the bargain with Tunney, huh Uncle Kenny?" Stefano remarked, taking a swig of bourbon.

"Shut up, Stefano. Well, all we can do is double down from here on. You, you, and you," the don singled out several more goons, "We've got to go overboard to protect the Intercontinental title. Head on down to the locker room area and see what you can do to shift the odds in Perfect's favor; if anyone in the Million Dollar Corporation wishes to help, let them."

The goons nodded and bustled out the door, just as Don Vincenelli's radio rang. "It's us, boss," stated Vinnie, "We found the presents you asked for."

"Good," the don cracked a smile, "Now deliver them here..."

* * *

"Take a look everyone, one million dollars of the purest gold and the finest diamonds in the richest title belt in all of wrestling, and now its all mine!" Piper declared proudly, holding the Million Dollar Belt up for his teammates to touch, "And if DiBiase wants it back, he's got to come and get it!"

He imitated DiBiase's laugh. "And, I couldn't have done it without my secret weapon here," he patted Virgil on the shoulder, "So thank you pal, I owe you a lot."

"Indeed, we all thank you, Virgil," Davey commended him as well, "What made you decide to do this?"

"Well," Virgil scratched his head, "During the month I was suspended, I did some thinking, and I came to realize, everything I've done in my life so far has been for my own self-interest, both before and after I met DiBiase. I was so desperate to avoid jail for my mistakes that I ended up turned into little more than his slave. Roddy here came to me and helped hammer the point home, and I realized, if I wanted to be a real man, I'd better start getting my life in order. So, we agreed, it would be better for all if the Million Dollar Belt changed hands tonight, and if I left DiBiase's employment for a better job. So, I'll be working with Roddy from now on."

"Well, if you are in fact sincere, we're glad to have you join us, Virgil," Bret commended him with a grin, "It's never too late to mend, and now..."

He was cut off as the locker room door swung open. "It is almost time!" bellowed the Ultimate Warrior with wild eyes, glaring the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection down, "All the time you laughed at me, all the time you put me down, it shall finally be made right! In less than twenty minutes from now, I shall defeat Yokozuna in under a minute, and will bodyslam him again in doing it, and finally be accepted by you, as your new leader!"

"Oh gives us a break, pal; Hulk's still the de facto leader here, and if Randy wins the title, he gets first dibs at the top until Hulk's back!" Piper barked at him.

"The agreement was I would lead, and so I shall!" the Warrior ranted, "We shall be the Ultimate Warriors of the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection, and I will get the first shot at whoever the champion is! The gods have deemed it so, and not even you can stop me! My destiny awaits, and you shall accept it!"

He whisked grandly back out the door. "The agreement never was he'd be the leader," Piper shook his head in disgust, "I normally hate Yokozuna, but if he wins this one, I won't be upset."

"OOOh yeah to that, Roddy," Savage agreed from the corner, "I ain't got much good to say about Yoko half the time, but I'd prefer he win this one."

"Want me to give the Warrior a little awakening?" Virgil proposed.

"No, no, Virgil, we don't do that," Bret shook his head, "His match has to go down fairly."

"Besides, it is against Yokozuna, so the odds would appear to be in our favor anyway," Piper cracked a small smile. His head swung towards the locker room TV as the Honky Tonk Man's theme song started up. "Well, first let's see what the showboat can do...other than making an over the top entrance," he frowned at the vintage pink Cadillac cruising up the aisle towards the ring with the Honky Tonk Man strumming away on his guitar in the back seat.

"He always was too loud and too abrasive, yeah," Savage nodded his head in agreement, "Hopefully Brutus'll relieve him of that hair, though, and make Elvis a little happier wherever he is now, yeah."

* * *

"The following contest is scheduled for one fall, and is a haircut match, with the stipulation that the loser shall have his hair cut by the winner," Finkel announced over the Honky Tonk Man's theme, "Introducing first: driving up the aisle with his manager, Colonel Jimmy Hart, his girlfriend, Peggy Sue, and his self-appointed bodyguard, Greg 'the Hammer' Valentine, from Memphis, Tennessee, weighing 247 pounds, the Honky Tonk Man!"

"Another member of Hart's stable trying to stack the odds, I see," Angelo shook his head at the breadth of the Honky Tonk Man's entourage in the Cadillac with him, "Three people in your corner is just too much."

"Well, at least they can't interfere too badly, Mr. Poffo, with disqualifications costing him and Beefcake their hair in this one," Wayne rationalized, "And that means Honky can't take a countout like he usually does in a fix."

"But what support indeed; look at that Peggy Sue," Smith stood up and whistled at the Honky Tonk Man's girlfriend, clicking together a set of hedge clippers in the seat next to her boyfriend, "I'd certainly write a song about her if I were dating her."

"Sure, and then you'd dump her once she told you the news you don't want to hear, just like with every other woman you've been with in your life," Ellie glared at him. "I'll say, though," she frowned at Peggy Sue, "She does look awfully familiar for some reason..."

"Oh I'd dump her? Where's your proof of that?" Smith shot back.

"Well, for starters, how about when..?"

"Let's not, please," Helen held up her hand to stop things from getting testy again. "Let's see if we can get his autograph," she told Dallas, hefting him up again. The Honky Tonk Man and his supporters (excluding the "Honkettes" driving the pink Cadillac, who stayed in place in the front seat, still bopping in place to their man's theme song), however, chose to go the other way into the ring. "Oh well," she shrugged, "Perhaps Mr. Beefcake will be more accommodating."

The Barber's theme song cut into the Honky Tonk Man's theme at this point, making the crowd cheer. "Wait a minute, not yet, I'm not done my song yet!" the Honky Tonk Man shouted into his microphone, "I demand a vote of confidence to be allowed to finish it!"

"His opponent," Finkel ignored him and continued the introduction, "from San Francisco, California, weighing 271 pounds, Brutus 'the Barber' Beefcake!"

"Now there's a real man," Georgia grinned at the Barber's cart zipping towards their location, "Someone who isn't over the top, who just gets to work doing what he does."

"Well he has to be a good man if he's one of the Hulkster's best friends, Aunt Georgia," Dallas told her. Helen rubbed his hair softly with a knowing expression. "An autograph for my grandson, Mr. Beefcake?" she asked him as he hopped down off the cart.

"My pleasure," with a warm smile, Beefcake put his shears under his arm, took Dallas's pen and added his name to the boy's collection to date. "Wish me luck," he told him in closing, climbing into the ring and clipping the shears in the air to a confident strut. "Listen to this ovation for Brutus; safe to say he has the support of the crowd here in Detroit," Monsoon remarked from the broadcast position.

"And why, I don't know; Honky's one terrific wrestler and singer; am I right, Jerry?" the Body asked the King for his own vote of confidence.

"He is, yeah, but to be honest, I'm not Honky's biggest fan myself," Lawler admitted, "He tried to steal my thunder and my crown back in Memphis, and you don't do that to the King. Still, I don't like Beefcake even more, so I'll be rooting for Honky in this one."

"Well at the end of this one, someone's losing his hair no matter what; countouts and disqualifications do not save you in this match. There's the bell, and here we go. Both men locking up in the middle of the ring-and Honky with a cheap shot kick to the chest to start it off..."

"Sure, because he does it, it's a cheap shot; when Brutus does it, it's perfectly all right," Ventura shot back at him.

"Hard elbow to Beefcake's head, and Honky slams his head into the mat; a look there at the Colonel, looking a little disappointed still that the Million Dollar Man just lost his Million Dollar Belt..."

"Not lost, you moron; cheated out of it," Lawler emphasized his viewpoint on the previous match, "If I were DiBiase, I'd demand an immediate rematch, with Virgil barred from ringside."

"You can think what you want, but the match stands, and Roddy Piper is the new Million Dollar Champion. Honky off the ropes, goes airborne...nobody home. Brutus back to his feet, gives him a hard chop to the face, and another. Beefcake whips him into the corner, splashes him, and now up on the shoulders and punching away: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Honky Tonk Man out of the corner-and falls flat on his face in the middle of the ring. Brutus with that confident strut of his, picks Honky up, and a big scoop slam there. Honky off the ropes...and Greg Valentine grabs the leg and trips him, come on! He has no business being at ringside in this one!"

"Didn't you get the memo, Monsoon; he's been appointed Honky's chief of security, so he is legal," Lawler countered.

"There was no such memo, and right now, the Hammer's nothing but a common goon. Valentine encouraging his good friend the Honky Tonk Man as he gets back to his feet; Honky drops the elbow on Beefcake, now turns him over and starts smashing his head into the mat. Hauls him up, whips him into the ropes, and a high knee to the chest makes Beefcake grimace. Peggy Sue outside prancing and dancing for her man; she's still got those oversized hedge clippers in hand; we'll see if they come into play at all in this one. But I must say, gentlemen, for all the time we've seen Peggy Sue in the Honky Tonk Man's corner every now and then, she does seem awfully familiar..."

"Of course she's familiar; Honky wrote her into his theme song," Ventura pointed out, "And besides, she's a useful ringside member, unlike, say, Elizabeth; she actually helps in Honky's matches instead of just standing there and looking beautiful."

"You mean helping like this: Honky sending Beefcake into the corner with a hip toss, and Peggy Sue's now pummeling him with cheap shots; turn around, ref!"

"Hey, he don't have eyes in the back of his head, Gorilla."

"I'm very well aware of that, Jesse. Honky Tonk Man with several stomps into Brutus's groin area; he gives the leg a twist and sits down hard on it. Jimmy Hart shouting for his man to keep pouring it on Beefcake, and Honky doing just that, whipping him hard into the corner and splashing him hard."

"I'd go for the Shake, Rattle & Roll now and finish him while he can," Lawler proposed.

"Not quite yet, Jerry; better make sure Beefcake's out of it before hitting the finisher," Ventura countered, "Just like this; hard clothesline sends Beefcake right out of the ring."

"And here comes Valentine, and he's kicking Brutus while he's still down; give me a break!" Monsoon groaned. The Hammer rolls Brutus back into the ring; Honky pounds on the back; now he jumps on the back for good measure. Honky Tonk Man imitating-mocking would be more like it-Beefcake's strut, now whips him into the ropes, jumps over Brutus on the rebound, and flattens him with a forearm smash. Honky Tonk Man with all the momentum at the moment in this one, sending Beefcake into the corner again, and whoa, a flying dropkick to the chest. Beefcake doubles over in pain..."

"He can't take much more of this; he's going to buckle under this pounding, Memphis style, he's getting," Lawler predicted.

"We shall see, King. Honky giving the Barber a reverse knife-edge, followed by a backbreaker, and Jimmy Hart now yelling for his man to finish it. Honky dragging him up and hooks him into position; he's setting him up for the Shake, Rattle & Roll. There's the Shake...and there's the Rattle...but no Roll; Beefcake grabs the top rope, and Honky falls flat the mat!" Monsoon bellowed, "Beefcake taking deep breaths to get himself composed again, now over to Honky and stomps on the groin to keep him from getting up. Diving punch to Honky's face, followed by a series of quick ones up close, and the pendulum has swung in this one."

"Yeah, well Honky's just as resilient; he can come back from this," Ventura insisted.

"Honky Tonk Man now getting an atomic drop, and a beauty; Honky staggering around the ring-Beefcake catches up to him and smashes the face into the turnbuckle. Whip into the far corner; Brutus charges, grabs Honky by the legs when he gets them up, and cracks him down hard to the mat! Beefcake turning Honky around, grabs the legs, and a slingshot into the post. Honky groaning in agony, stumbling around...right into Beefcake's arms, and Brutus locks the sleeper on! Beefcake pouring on the sleeper hold; as you may recall, he had this locked on the Honky Tonk Man at Wrestlemania a few years back for the Intercontinental title, but Jimmy Hart knocked the referee out to prevent the title change. Referee Dave Hebner, perhaps remembering this, staying in the middle of the ring..."

"Wait a minute, Gorilla, how do we know that's Dave Hebner?" Ventura pointed it, "It could be Earl masquerading again..."

"Both Hebners have been fingerprinted, and Earl, who of course is serving a five year suspension for throwing the match that made Ric Flair world champion, would be easily identified. Brutus still giving the sleeper hold full blast, and it looks like Honky's going down...he's struggling to get to the ropes...wait a minute, Peggy Sue gave him his guitar; Honky winds up...and cracks Brutus hard in the face...and there goes the bell; he just got himself disqualified! And that means he loses his hair!"

"Well maybe Brutus had the sleeper on too hard," Lawler tried to rationalize. Finkel's announcement, however, quickly dispelled this: "Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this bout, as the result of a disqualification, Brutus 'the Barber' Beefcake! And now, as per the stipulation of this match, the Honky Tonk Man will have his hair shaved off!"

"Honky Tonk Man turning pale; he realizes a little too late he just made a colossal mistake," Monsoon saw on his monitor, "Honky tries to bail out of there, but Brutus catches hold of him and yanks him backwards-no, shoves him into Honky's entourage when they try and come in to save him, and they go down like bowling pins! Brutus going into his tights, pulling out an electric shaver much like we saw Andre using earlier, pushes Honky down to the mat, and here we go...!"

"This is disgraceful; Honky should not be made to go through with this!" Ventura grumbled bitterly.

"He knew the consequences of signing this match with Brutus, and went ahead with it anyway; now he's paying the price. Beefcake grinning as he shears off the Honky Tonk Man's locks; Elvis somewhere is probably smiling, knowing his biggest ripoff artist just got humiliated. And for Beefcake, this is payback; he missed the shot at the Intercontinental gold when Honky had it due to Honky ducking him and then the interference by Jimmy Hart when he had him beat; now he can say, I got him. Honky Tonk Man about halfway bald now; this crowd really cheering Beefcake on..."

"Hold it, here comes Valentine to his feet, coming over to Beefcake; he's going to break this up," Lawler pointed at the Hammer charging over to where his friend was being shaved.

"Valentine with a hard blow to the back of Beefcake's head...uh oh, he may have broken up the haircut, but he made Brutus mad! Brutus with a hard blow to the Hammer's chest, and now he locks the sleeper hold on Valentine and starts shaving the Hammer as well! Jimmy Hart and Peggy Sue pulling the Honky Tonk Man out of the ring, but the damage already done; Honky Tonk Man left with a mohawk cut...!"

"Hey Honky!" Ellie dug out her compact from her purse and held it up with the mirror high for the Elvis impersonator to see his new "do." The Honky Tonk Man screamed like a girl to see his Elvis-style look reduced to a hairstyle similar to the Legion of Doom's. He hastily yanked Jimmy's jacket off and slipped it over his head, although a little too late to stop everyone else in sight from jeering at him. "Uh oh, make tracks, Honky; he's not done!" Jimmy screeched himself, pointing into the ring, where Beefcake, having put the now also mohawked Valentine to sleep, grabbed his shears from the corner and leaped over the top rope, snipping them at the Honky Tonk Man. "Go, go!" the Mouth of the South screeched at the Honkette at the pink Cadillac's wheel, diving headfirst into the back seat, Honky and Peggy Sue right behind him. The pink Cadillac reversed quickly back down the aisle at thirty miles an hour away from Beefcake...smashing hard into the side of the tunnel after missing the curtains. Beefcake continued charging towards it with the shears, and the Honkette at the wheel hastily pulled forward enough to properly speed backwards out the tunnel, the Barber still running after it with the shears. "Well, that was rather amusing," Stu laughed to himself in the front row. "But darling, I've said not to hammer points home too hard," he told his eldest daughter.

"Just figured he'd want to know what the damage would be, Dad," Ellie said in self-defense, pocketing the mirror just as the bell rang for the next match already. "The following is an eight man tag team attraction, scheduled for one fall," came the formal announcement over the familiar gong and Oriental music ringing out, "Now approaching the ringside area, at a total combined weight of 1,233 pounds: accompanied by his manager, Bobby 'the Brain' Heenan, from Portland, Oregon, Ken Patera! Accompanied by his manager, 'Classy' Fred Blassie, from Chicago, Illinois, the One Man Gang! And accompanied by their manager, Mr. Fuji, from Osaka, Japan, Kato and Tanaka of the Orient Express!"

"Ah, so Fuji chose that combo," Stu nodded softly, watching the cart cruising back towards the ring again with the latest combatants on board, "Very interesting."

"Why not, Dad; Kato and Tanaka won titles together in Japan a couple times, so that's the most logical combo of all," Smith argued, flashing the Orient Express and their teammates a big thumbs up as they disembarked from their cart and entered the ring.

"Well, yes, son, but interesting nonetheless," his father mused, seemingly staring intently at Kato. He broke his gaze back towards the aisle when the cheer of, "1...2...3!" rang out over the sound system, followed by the second announcement, "Their opponents are at a total combined weight of 918 pounds: from Tampa, Florida, 'Mr. Wonderful' Paul Orndorff! From Minneapolis, Minnesota, the 1-2-3 Kid! And, from parts unknown, B. Brian Blair and 'Jumping' Jim Brunzell; the Killer Bees!" "I don't know how the Kid got into this so soon off the bat either," the oldest Hart child griped, "He doesn't have the experience yet to..."

"Hey, with the start he's gotten off to so far, why not, Smith?" Wayne flashed the Kid and his teammates a thumbs-up as they all climbed into the ring. "There goes the bell for this eight man match," Monsoon leaned back into his seat at the broadcast position, "As you at home can see, it will be Kato and Tanaka for the Orient Express; Mr. Fuji was specifically told by Jack Tunney that only two members of his team could participate in this one, which, given the Orient Express's habit of ganging up on everyone, was certainly a good idea. We'd like to thank Jerry Lawler, who seems to have snuck off on us without us noticing, for his assistance these last few matches; we wish him well in any future broadcasting roles he may have here in the WWF."

"Oh I know he's going to do well, Gorilla; I just want to work with him myself again," Ventura remarked, "And while we're on the topic, you want to also mention Tunney's even better order for this match, that the Bees are expressly forbidden to use Masked Confusion in this one? I usually hate the way Tunney runs the company, but that was a rare bright idea by him to put the Bees on the spot over that dirty tactic of theirs."

"Well, I suppose it was a fair tradeoff for having only two members of the Orient Express in this match," Monsoon conceded, "But before you call the tactic dirty, Jesse, let me remind you the Killer Bees have thus far only used Masked Confusion when their opponents have gone above and beyond the call of duty in playing dirty themselves-and that Brian Blair and Jim Brunzell agreed to the prohibition for this match without any qualms, because they often don't need Masked Confusion to win."

"Now let's see how good their words are, and let me predict they'll break it in a heartbeat..."

"Whoa oh, it'll be Orndorff against Patera to start off-and Mr. Wonderful rushing the former Olympic champion and whaling away at him like there's no tomorrow!" Monsoon exclaimed as the action started, "Paul Orndorff has expressed his fury that Bobby Heenan would put a bounty on his head for walking out on the Heenan Family again, and you can bet he's going to make sure Patera will not be the one to collect on it."

"I think that was taken out of context; I think what Heenan really meant was..."

"You can't spin this, Jesse; I was sitting right next to the Brain on Wrestling Challenge when he stood up and offered fifty grand right there on the air to any member of the Heenan Family that crippled Mr. Wonderful for life. But Paul Orndorff not taking that idea well, of course, and he now has Patera locked in a tight armbar, as we in fact see the Brain sweating nervously outside the ring."

"Now, Gorilla, how can everyone boo Patera so badly after all he's done for this country?" Ventura gestured at the fans all around them cheering for Orndorff, "He's more of an American hero than Hogan and Duggan combined-and may I mention, had a nice long reign as Intercontinental champion a while back."

"Ken Patera may be an Olympic champion, Jesse, but the tactics he's used since coming under the umbrella of the Heenan Family diminishes him greatly in the eyes of wrestling fans everywhere-like right now; Patera with a cheap shop kick to the chest to break the armbar, and now a quick tag to Tanaka. Tanaka into the ring in a flash, and an immediate karate kick to Orndorff's chest, followed by a chop to the face. Tanaka sends Orndorff for the ride into the ropes, and...whoa, Orndorff takes flight and takes him down with a high cross body! The cover: one...quick kickout by Tanaka. Mr. Wonderful off the ropes, drops the leg on the chest, and a tag to the 1-2-3 Kid, who has been lighting up the squared circle here in the WWF since his stunning upset win over Razor Ramon in his first match two months ago."

"I think Tunney's giving him too much exposure too soon; the Kid hasn't really proven himself worthy of a pay-per-view spot yet," the Body complained.

"Oh I think he has, and many others think he has; and the 1-2-3 Kid with a flying dropkick off the ropes that sends Tanaka rolling hard into the corner!" Monsoon roared, "What a move by this youngster, who clearly has the talent to go far here in the WWF. And he'll get the experience soon; let us remember that Razor Ramon, once the shock of the upset loss had worn off, eagerly agreed to take the 1-2-3 Kid under his wing and give him as many pointers as possible. And given how well the Bad Guy..."

"Who as I've said needs to change his name if he wants to be a hero..."

"Will you stop!? With all his training on the streets of Havana, Razor Ramon would make the perfect tutor to the Kid-who leaps over Tanaka on the rebound off the ropes, drops to the ground...whoa, cartwheeling kick from the mat that sends Tanaka stumbling along the ropes; this kid has everything in his arsenal!"

"But it better include brains; there's the tag to the Gang," Ventura pointed to the tag, "Let's see how he stacks up against another guy that was schooled on the streets."

"One Man Gang charges towards the 1-2-3 Kid, who ducks the big roundhouse right, grabs the Gang around the waist; is he trying to pick him up for a slam?"

"I don't think he can lift him...nope, down goes the Kid, and the Gang's got the shoulders down! One, two...aaaaaaahhh!" Ventura growled in frustration when the 1-2-3 Kid kicked out at the last second, "Should have had him there!"

"Well he didn't. 1-2-3 Kid now in a bit of trouble, as the One Man Gang sits down hard on him, then drops the elbow into the chest. Kid whipped into the ropes-and slides under the legs on the rebound, and a tag to Jim Brunzell! Jumping Jim going up to the top rope; he leaps...!"

"...right into the Gang's arms, and here comes the big powerslam-yeah!" Ventura applauded the move, "And now it's the Gang going up; I think here comes the 747; if he hits this, it's over already."

"Few people have gotten up after the One Man Gang has connected with his patented 747-but Brunzell out of the way in time!" Monsoon bellowed as Brunzell rolled out of the way at the last minute, "Brunzell back to his feet, kicking the Gang in the face, now twisting the arm and dishing out a kick to the chest...but the Gang pulls him close and flattens him with a brutal clothesline. Tag to Kato, who hefts Brunzell back to his feet and swings a kick...no, Brunzell blocks it and twists the leg hard-and Kato goes spiraling off his feet! Slingshot coming up-yes! Kato with his head being pounded into the corner hard as Fuji shouts instructions to him in Japanese from outside. And there's the tag to B. Brian Blair, and both Killer Bees going up to the tope rope..."

"Yeah, illegal double teaming; they're a REALLY upstanding team!"

"They can do it as long as it's within five seconds-and they down Kato with a double flying dropkick, sending him rolling out of the ring! Action fast and furious in this eight man match; we give credit to Jack Tunney for trying to get as many people as possible into WrestleMania this year, with this match, the four man big guy match from earlier, both the scheduled and the surprise six man matches, the ten man match to start out the show, and the twelve man match still to come. And all these guys are more than worthy to...hold the phone, what's this now?" Monsoon squinted at his monitor, "Kato crawling around by the ring covering on the far side of the ring; looks like he's looking for...look at this, here comes Sato from under the ring!" he exclaimed as the third member of the Orient Express crawled out from under the ring, "He's not supposed to be in the building at all tonight-and look at this, Kato pulling off his mask and slipping it over Sato's head! They can't do this!"

"Technically they can, Gorilla; Jack Tunney never said THEY couldn't try their hand at Masked Confusion," Ventura opined smugly.

"Kato now crawling under the ring; neither the referee nor Tunney in his seat on the other side of the ring saw any of this, and a very fresh Sato, now wearing Kato's mask, leaps up onto the apron and rams Brian Blair in the chest when he tries to pull him into the ring! The disguised Sato with a big leap over the ropes, and now grabs the legs for a sunset flip, and down goes Blair! One, two...just got out of there. Sato with a rough karate kick to the chest, and now a serious of vicious chops to the face. And now a flying tackle sends Blair flying upside-down into the corner; he has no idea what, or even who, just hit him."

"Turnabout is fair play, Gorilla; this is divine justice for the Bees using Masked Confusion all the time. Now it's only a matter of time before they pull out their own masks and do it back."

"They gave Jack Tunney their solemn word they wouldn't do it tonight, and thus far in the WWF, they have not broken their word when they've given it, unlike the Orient Express-and Sato with a big body slam of Blair. Fuji calling to his man to drag him over to the corner, and the Devious One winding up with his cane and let's Blair have it in the throat; give me a break! Sato now taking Blair all around his corner, and his partners all taking cheap shots at Blair."

"Sure, when THEY do it, it's a cheap shot, but if the other side tries it..."

"Blair thrown hard into the corner, and Sato flattens him with a hard elbow. Snap suplex sends Blair down, and Sato hoisting him up onto his shoulders..."

"I love this move; what does Bobby call it? Oh yeah, the Japanese Vegomatic."

"Whatever it's called, here it comes-ouch! Sato with the cover: one, two...Brunzell with a diving save of his partner."

"AGAIN, the Bees being dirty; Brunzell had no right to interfere in this pinfall!"

"Any more than the Orient Express had to hide a man under the ring to get around the two man order!? Sato kicks Brunzell in the chest, throws Blair into the ropes-Blair grabs hold of the ropes to stop the momentum-and flips Sato over his head when he rushes him! Brian Blair saving himself this time, and makes the tag to Orndorff. Paul Orndorff into the ring, reaches over and yanks Sato, whom I sure he still assumes is Kato, up to the apron, and now suplexes him over the top and back in. Elbow into the chest, and Mr. Wonderful sends him for the ride and downs him with an elbow to the face. Sato stumbling to his corner, trying to make the tag; he's reaching for the One Man Gang...nope, Mr. Wonderful cuts him off and gives him another suplex. Sato now the one in trouble-and Orndorff clotheslines him over the top rope and back out; this place is going bananas!"

"Look, Sato's crawling around on the floor himself; I think he wants to hand off back to Kato."

"And indeed here comes Kato back out from under the ring right in front of him; this capacity crowd shouting to the referee to look at what's going on, but Fuji now up on the apron to distract him while the switch is presumably made again-and yes, Kato taking his mask back from Sato, who slides back under the ring as Orndorff rounds the corner. Mr. Wonderful frowning; did he see Sato there?"

"Doesn't matter, here comes Kato, and a diving dropkick takes Mr. Wonderful down; I love it," the Body applauded the move.

"Hard karate chops to the face; referee still trying to get Fuji down off the apron, which is why these two aren't being counted at the moment. Kato trying to smash Paul Orndorff's face into those steel barricades-no, Orndorff blocks it and smashes HIS head into it! Mr. Wonderful with a second wind, scoop slam of Kato, and now he picks him up and turns him over; he's going to give him the piledriver outside the ring...!"

"No he's not; here comes Patera, and he nails Orndorff in the back of the head..."

"But it looks like that only made Mr. Wonderful mad; he's storming towards Ken Patera with a furious expression...and now he picks him up and gives HIM the piledriver! They're blowing the roof off the Silverdome right now!"

"That's terrible; he CANNOT do that to someone who isn't the legal man!"

"After having a bounty placed on his head by the Brain, and having to dodge the Heenan Family all these last few weeks, I can't blame him one bit for doing it."

"Yeah, you really have a double standard, don't you, Gorilla!?"

"Referee counting now; Orndorff back into the ring at seven," Monsoon ignored his partner, "Charges the already in Kato and flattens him with a running clothesline, and now tags the 1-2-3 Kid back in. Kid with a dropkick that sends Kato flying backwards..."

"Straight towards Tanaka for the tag; big mistake on the Kid's part."

Tanaka charges forward-but the Kid takes him down with an armdrag. And now he clamps on a sitting abdominal stretch. Tanaka visibly grimacing; the 1-2-3 Kid pouring the hold on full blast as his teammates encourage him on. Referee asking Tanaka if he wants to submit; Tanaka furiously shaking his head no...and look out, the One Man Gang barreling into the ring and stomps on the Kid's back to break the hold! Blassie applauding his man; he's just as demented as the big guy!"

"But a smart manager, Gorilla, you cannot ignore that."

"Referee ordering the One Man Gang back out of the ring...and behind his back, here comes Blassie, and he's choking the Kid out; come on! And now a cane shot to the throat for good measure!"

"Hey, Fuji had his fun with that, no reason Blassie can't either."

"Will you stop!? Tanaka taking the opportunity to tag in Ken Patera, just back up on the apron from the piledriver, but still looking rather dazed-and misses a roundhouse right when he stumbles towards the Kid; this may have just been a big mistake to tag him in right now."

"As I mentioned, Patera had a good run as Intercontinental champion; he has the stamina to fight through this."

"Right now, though, the former Olympic champion taking a hard atomic drop that sends him staggering around the ring-and the 1-2-3 Kid's teammates all give him hard blows when he stumbles by their corner..."

"Even MORE dirtiness by these guys...!"

"Lest we forget, Patera's team already did it themselves, so this would only be an equalization. 1-2-3 Kid flings Patera into the ropes, he quickly jumps up to the top rope himself-and look at that, a big backwards moonsault that takes Patera down spectacularly! Another toss into the ropes-and he hits him with the 1-2-3 Kick! It's all over but the shouting!"

"Don't be too sure, Gorilla; Patera's teammates won't let it end like this."

"1-2-3 Kid with the cover: one, two...Kato with a flying tackle to break the cover."

"That's payback for the Bees doing the same thing earlier, by the way."

"Killer Bees now charging into the ring, visibly upset that their team was just cost a clear victory. Orient Express doing the same...and now we've got all eight men in the ring whaling away at each other; referee has lost control of this one. He's trying to push the Bees out as the 1-2-3 Kid climbing up to the top rope behind everyone's back; I think he's going for another moonsault to...look out, Sato climbing back out from under the ring-and he shoves the Kid down off the top rope hard; give me a break!"

"The Kid went to the well once too often, and now he paid the price."

"And here comes the One Man Gang off the ropes, and a brutally hard splash on the Kid's chest; referee being distracted by the two legal members of the Orient Express and did not see it! And he's still not looking as the Gang starts up the ropes again..."

"The Kid's out cold, so this 747's going to hit."

"One Man Gang takes aim...747! And now he rolls the dazed Patera on top of the 1-2-3 Kid and exits just as the ref turns around and sees the apparent cover..."

"Here we go: one, two, three!" Ventura laughed in triumph as Patera got the unintended pinfall, "A major upset for Patera's team in this one."

"A miscarriage of justice is more like it, Jesse! It took half of Patera's team to get the job done at once!"

"But Patera's arm's being raised, so it's official, Gorilla, and there's nothing you can do about it."

"Hold it, Paul Orndorff's furious, I think he saw everything," Monsoon glanced at his monitor, "He's shouting to the referee that Sato was under the ring the whole time-there he goes outside the ring, yanking up the covering, looking for...and he's found Sato!" he exclaimed as a fuming Orndorff pulled Sato out from under the ring.

"Well that won't change anything, Gorilla; the referee's decision is always final, so Mr. Blunderful's only being a sore loser."

"It won't change the match's outcome, no, but it can land Sato's team a hefty fine for this bit of cheating."

"Again, when THEY do it, it's cheating, and when...!"

"Mr. Wonderful hefts Sato up and gives him a hard piledriver of his own!" Monsoon roared, as did half the Silverdome, "And now he grabs a steel chair and charges into the ring; his opponents quickly scatter like flies and run for it back up the aisle. Medical crews on their way up to check on the 1-2-3 Kid, who's groaning but doesn't appear from our vantage point to be too badly injured. Paul Orndorff and the Killer Bees raising their own arms to the approval of the crowd; regardless of the official outcome, they fought a good match tonight."

"Never mind the Kid, check on Sato; Orndorff might have done major damage to him with that last piledriver!" the Body protested sharply.

"Nothing Sato didn't bring on himself, Jesse. His opponents, meanwhile, checking on the 1-2-3 Kid themselves; medics seem to be saying he's going to be all right-in fact, they're walking away, not needed this time. The Kid's teammates looking relieved, helping him up and exiting the ring now, and it looks like, yes, they'll be signing autographs at ringside like so many other's tonight have..."

"Here you go," Orndorff managed a small smile as he affixed his name to Dallas's program after the Bees had done the same. "Take care, kid," he rubbed the boy's hair before turning to help the Bees carry the 1-2-3 Kid back onto the cart. "He'll be OK," Helen assured her grandson, looking worried at the Kid's condition, "It wasn't that bad a hit he took."

"Well, anyway, Georgia leaned over to check Wayne's program, "Looks like Harry's secondary hero the Warrior's up next."

"And Dad says if he wins, he'll be able to join him and Uncle Bret in the Connection," the Bulldog's son said with an eager expression.

"I hope he doesn't; you saw how rude he was at the Survivor Series when he came to the house," Dallas shook his head at his cousin, "And Dad says the Warrior still won't sign autographs for kids these days; that's not how a true wrestling champion's supposed to be like."

"And of course, there's no way he beats Yokozuna," Dean predicted confidently.

"Hey, he slammed him at the Rumble, Uncle Dean; you were there watching!" Harry pressed the point.

"Beginner's luck, little guy; Yokozuna was just caught off guard, that's all. He's going to squash him flat this time."

"I guess we'll see, so let's not press it too far right now," Diana frowned at her brother, pulling her son close. "Nervous?" she turned to Bonnie next to her, who indeed looked a bit on edge, "You haven't said much all night..."

"I guess so," Steamboat's bride confessed, "I think Rick's match is right after this one. I want him to win the belt so bad after he got derailed for it before-and again, I don't trust having Savage in his corner after what he did..."

"Why not, Mrs. Steamboat; Miss Elizabeth made him a better man," Jade stressed.

"I don't know, it's just...what he did to Rick's just etched in my mind," Bonnie admitted to the girl, "I know Rick can win, but if he's not watching his back..."

"Sorry, Mrs. Steamboat; I'm sure he'll give Curt a good struggle, but my boy's just too good," Larry leaned forward, "And in the case of this next match..."

"Look who's coming," Wayne pointed at a pair of Japanese maidens entering the ring, each with a bouquet of flowers in hand, "The gargantuan on his way down any minute now."

"I wish the Warrior hadn't picked him to face tonight," Harry shivered, clutching his stuffed Warrior doll close.

"Like I said, there's no way he's going to beat Yoko, period," Dean grinned knowingly.

"But like Harry said, he did slam him at the Rumble, if we recall, Dean, I guess it is," Angelo reminded him, "There is a chance."

"Well, we'll see in a minute, Angelo," Stu turned his gaze back up the aisle as the familiar Japanese flute theme rose to life and the next cart came into sight. "The following contest is scheduled for one fall," Finkel proclaimed, "Approaching the ring, with his manager, Mr. Fuji, and his American spokesman, James E. Cornette, from Yokohama, Japan, weighing 636 pounds, Yokozuna!"

"He always does look scarier up close," Jade shivered herself at the sight of Yokozuna's indeed massive girth, "And he looks like he's in a bad mood already."

"Well, he's not going to hurt us, sweetheart; he's going to be concentrating on his match," Helen assured her, pulling her close. She shivered herself, though, as Yokozuna walked past with a cold, determined expression. "Although, I am glad it's not your father he's fighting," she added quickly.

"Of course, now that he's here, we're going to have wait at least five minutes while he goes through his whole pre-match ritual," Georgia sighed, leaning back in resignation to watch Yokozuna take the bouquets off the maidens and bow to them (then callously tossed the flowers aside once they left the ring). He then bowed to Fuji and Cornette, and then to the corner, then took a handful of ceremonial salt out of Fuji's bucket and tossed it in the air to bless the ring. The music switched to the Warrior's theme, prompting the Silverdome to erupt into cheers. "His opponent, from parts unknown, weighing 280 pounds, the Ultimate Warrior!" Finkel declared.

"Here he comes," Diana held her son up to see the Warrior's cart approaching, "And see, he's in good shape himself...whoa," she exclaimed upon watching the Warrior jump over the front of the cart while it was still in motion, rush full-on into the ring, bounce wildly off the ropes, and shaking them like a madman. "Well, let's hope he does well," she assured him.

"He's going to fail, just face it," Smith cracked, prompting her to slap him on the shoulder. The Warrior let out a loud war cry as the bell rang and gestured sharply for Yokozuna to come and face him, although the sumo champion remained firmly in place, his arms folded across his chest and a deep scowl on his face. "We're ready to go in this one, but Yokozuna apparently not ready to go just yet, it looks," Monsoon noted.

He'll go when he's good and ready, Gorilla; you don't rush a guy Yoko's size," Ventura countered, "Now let's see if the Warrior can walk the walk after talking the talk for the last month or so."

"Ultimate Warrior with a lot riding on this one; if he wins, he is finally in the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection. And he's not going to wait for Yokozuna to do anything; he charges right at his opponent...and Yokozuna paintbrushes him hard to the mat. Ultimate Warrior right back up and charges at him again-and gets thrown halfway across the ring. Yokozuna hasn't budged an inch, but still with the early edge here. Ultimate Warrior back up again, off the ropes, launches himself at Yokozuna with a full head of steam...Yokozuna hurls him over his head and out of the ring; did you see the height there, Jesse?"

"I sure did; clearly Yoko's good and ready for anything the Warrior can give him," Ventura smirked.

"And look at this, Jim Cornette whacking the Warrior with his tennis racket to buy his man even more time; give me a break! Yokozuna finally taking his robe off now, yanks the Warrior back into the ring...whoa, what a tremendous powerslam on him! Ultimate Warrior looking heavily dazed, still staggering back to his feet, and launches himself at Yokozuna again...and the sumo champion steps aside, and the Warrior goes flying out of the ring again! Warrior getting kicked by Fuji and Cornette, who then roll him back into the ring. Yokozuna throws him hard into the opposite corner, measures him; I think a big splash is coming...oh no," he grimaced as Yokozuna in fact splashed the Warrior hard into the corner, then rammed him a second time, and then a third and fourth, "Ultimate Warrior crumpling limply to the mat in the corner; Yokozuna climbing up to the second rope; I can't believe it; is it really going to end this quickly...!?"

"You bet, Gorilla; it's Banzai Drop time already. Goodbye Warrior; you're not joining Hogan's chumps this time. Here we go..."

"BANZAI!" Yokozuna's yell echoed throughout the Silverdome, seconds before he came crashing down hard on the Warrior's chest, where he folded his arms confidently across his chest until he'd gotten the three count and the victory. "I can't believe it; the Ultimate Warrior was beaten in record time; thirty-eight seconds, the timekeeper's telling us," Monsoon was shocked.

"It's divine karma, Gorilla; the Warrior's made his career beating his opponents in record time, and now, on the biggest stage in the history of wrestling, he goes down in record time-and look at this, Yokozuna going up again; he's going to give him a second Drop..."

"BANZAI!" Yokozuna bellowed once more, and crashed down hard on the Warrior's chest again. Ignoring the shouting of the referee that he'd done enough damage, he climbed up to the second rope a third time. "This is getting ridiculous; the match is over! There's no need to keep doing this to him over and over again!" Monsoon was indignant now, "Get him down from there, ref...!"

"BANZAI!" the shout rang out again, right before the Warrior received a third Banzai Drop to the chest. "Well, he's down, Gorilla; isn't that what you wanted?" Ventura smirked at him.

Monsoon glared at his broadcast partner, then returned an anxious gaze to the ring, where Yokozuna rose up and gave a brief glare down at the fallen, convulsing Warrior at his feet before, in defiance of the shouting of the officials now flooding the ringside area, climbing the ropes a fourth time. "No you don't!" Tunney was looking furious as he ran over to the corner himself, "You jump again, and you're fined...!"

"BANZAI!" Yokozuna jumped again anyway, making the Warrior groan in horrific agony. "All right, Yokozuna, that's a one hundred thousand dollar fine!" Tunney roared at him, "And...no you don't!" he warned him as Yokozuna defiantly climbed the ropes a fifth time, "That'll be a month's suspension and another hundred thousand dollar fine if you do it again! Are you listening to me?" he stormed into the ring, although careful to stay out of Yokozuna's trajectory, "I mean it; if you jump one more time...!"

Shouting irately in Japanese, Yokozuna did climb down-in order to deck Tunney hard across the face. He then climbed up to the second rope again. "No, please, make him stop!" Harry was hysterical in the front row, covering his eyes, "Don't hurt him anymore...!"

"BANZAI!" Dean and Smith shouted along with Yokozuna this time sitting down emphatically in their seats in synchronization with the fifth Banzai Drop. "What!" the former protested, noticing Diana's glare at him, "Can't we have some fun too?"

"You wonder why none of us care for the two of you watching matches with us; there's why!" she snapped at him, "How would you feel if you had to watch your hero get destroyed?"

"Oh come on, this is entertainment at heart-and here he goes for a sixth one; I think he's trying for a world record," Smith pointed at Yokozuna in fact going up for a sixth Banzai Drop.

"I agree with Harry; they've got to stop this!" Alison was horrified herself now, "This could kill him if he keeps it up...!"

She covered her eyes, unable to bear to watch, and Diana couldn't help doing the same. "Maybe we should stick to just having your father as your hero," she mumbled softly to her son, "He's at least more of a real man than the Warrior could ever be..."

"Get him down somebody, anybody!" Monsoon was waving his arms wildly at the broadcast position, wide-eyed himself, "Nobody can survive six Banzai Drops! He wouldn't dare try for six...!"

"You bet he would, Gorilla, and he's going to in three, two, one, BANZAI!" Ventura yelled along with Yokozuna this time, throwing his arms up at the moment of the sixth impact. A small army of WWF officials and medics flooded the ring, desperately trying to get between Yokozuna and the Warrior. Yokozuna, however, was apparently finished with his rampage, as he started to climb out of the ring, pausing just long enough to spit contemptuously on the fallen Warrior. He climbed up onto what had been the Warrior's cart, took the Japanese flag from Fuji, who climbed up on the other cart with Cornette, and waved it defiantly at the stunned, silent crowd as their carts pulled out for the locker room. "Total chaos in here; the Ultimate Warrior appears to be unconscious and is coughing up blood; hopefully medical crews can get him back to something resembling normal," Monsoon shook his head softly, "Warrior gave it his best, but he never really had a chance in this one..."

"What best; Yoko absolutely steamrolled him; that doesn't equal one's best, Gorilla," Ventura said coolly, "And to add insult to injury for the Warrior, there goes his chance to join Hogan's merry men. Too bad; he'd've fit in just right with those clowns."

"Ultimate Warrior indeed as per the agreed stipulations with them will not be granted admittance to the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection at this time; let's just hope he'll be able to enter another wrestling ring in the foreseeable future after taking six Banzai Drops and a tremendous shellacking at Yokozuna's hands. The medics are loading him on a stretcher to be carried out of here; they're getting a big applause from the crowd here. We'll keep you informed as to the Warrior's condition as information becomes available; coming up next, the big Intercontinental showdown: Mr. Perfect defending against Ricky Steamboat; that's going to be one you won't want to miss..."

der how the kid could have tricked him again before the line gave way and he slammed full on into the wall.


	10. Chapter 10

"What's the prognosis on him, Doc?" Savage called to the medics carrying the prostrate and unconscious Warrior up the hall on a stretcher.

"A serious concussion, multiple cracked ribs; we're going to take X-rays to see if there's any serious internal injuries," the head medic shook his head grimly, "Safe to say, though, he won't be wrestling again for at least the next six months."

"Aw, too bad," Savage tried to keep a straight face. Once the medics had whisked the Warrior out the back door, however, he let out a yell of delight and danced a jig in place. "What, what is it?" Elizabeth came around the corner.

"No more Warrior for a good long while; he won't be bothering us again for probably the rest of the year, ooooooooooh yeah!" the Macho Man declared.

"Well, we shouldn't really celebrate anyone getting injured Randy, even if the Warrior was being rude and annoying with all of us," she pointed out, "Clearly Yokozuna went too far in beating him there, and..."

She stopped abruptly and turned in the direction of the locker room. "You hear that?" she asked him, a worried expression on her face. Savage heard it too: loud groans coming between ominous thuds, and what was clearly baby Richie crying loudly-all of which was punctuated by a loud, "WOOOOOO!" Savage rushed for the locker room and shoved the door open. "Hey!" he barked at the small group of formally-suited goons who, along with Flair-now in his crown and robe as well-had Steamboat up against the wall and were punching him hard. "Beat it, Macho; this ain't your business," one of the goons barked at him.

"Oh no?" Savage rushed them and started swinging punches wildly, most of them connecting hard. This had its intended effect; the goons broke off from attacking Steamboat and rushed for the exit. "I ain't done with you yet, Flair!" Savage grabbed the Nature King by the shoulder, "Don't start what you can't...!"

He yelped as Flair sucker-kicked him where it really hurt. "Does that constitute finishing, big man?" Flair smirked at him, "The Intercontinental title's Perfect's, Dragon, don't you forget that," he shouted at the groaning Steamboat, "And don't cry, baby, because it's not all bad," he hefted the bawling Richie off a nearby bench, where the child had been left during the assault, "Once Mr. Perfect gives Daddy the worst beating of his life in the ring, Mommy's still got one last shot at Space Mountain, WOOOOOO!"

With a loud roar, Steamboat charged at the world champion, prompting Flair to put the Dragon's son down on the bench again and head for the door himself, but not without a final, contemptuous, "WOOOOOO!" back at everyone. "What happened?" Savage approached his teammate with concern, hefting Richie up and patting him gently to calm him down.

"I don't know; one minute I was standing there getting ready for the match; the next minute, they all jumped me from behind," Steamboat groaned, rubbing his head with a grimace.

"You sure you're going to be all right to go out there, Ricky?" Elizabeth looked really concerned as she appeared, looking with deep hesitation at the bumps and bruises Steamboat had taken under the onslaught.

"We ain't got no choice, Elizabeth; if he don't go out there, Perfect keeps the title by default, and then it's open season for us later on to make sure Flair keeps the world title," Savage handed Richie to his wife, who gently clucked at the baby with a warm smile and rocked him gently until he stopped crying, "I'll make sure it don't get any worse than this in his corner, though."

"I hope so, Macho; if they make any moves after Bonnie to stop me..." Steamboat looked pale at the thought,

"Did they threaten Bonnie if you didn't back down from this match?" Elizabeth looked worried.

"They implied it," the Dragon grimaced again, "But yeah, Liz, I've got to go out there and do the match; I'd be letting all the fans down for one thing if I didn't, and I vowed to get the Intercontinental title since I came here to the WWF. Besides, we can't let the mob take over the WWF no matter what leverage they might use to get me to back off..."

"Well, look at it this way, bud; she's got a front row seat; the cameras'll be on her when you and the little guy here come in; they can't do anything in front of tens of millions of TV viewers," Savage theorized, "Just get the title off Perfect any legal and fair way you can so Mr. Tunney wins his bet with the mob."

"Two minutes to the pre-match interview, Mr. Steamboat," an aide stuck his head in the locker room door. Steamboat took a deep breath. "Well, here we go," he said with a brave smile, gently taking his son back from Elizabeth, "Wish us luck, Liz."

"Good luck, and stay safe out there, Ricky, Randy," she wished them with a concerned look as they left the locker room and made their way down the hall to the interview area, where Perfect was just about finished giving a confident, bragging interview to Sammartino about how easily he was going to retain the Intercontinental title. Okerlund was waiting for Steamboat in front of the other Wrestlemania flat. "Good lord, Ricky, what happened to you?" he grimaced at the sight of the Dragon's injuries.

"Just a little mishap backstage; nothing too bad, Gene, he's good and ready to go, yeah," Savage said quickly, visibly propping the swaying Steamboat up as the cameraman aimed at them. "All right, I'm here with Ricky 'the Dragon' Steamboat, who will have this man, the Macho Man, in his corner as he challenges for the Intercontinental title. This is a most unusual partnership, even with both of you gentlemen being in the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection together, given that it was you, Randy Savage, who, by hitting the Dragon in the throat with the ring bell some time back, cost him a previous shot at the Intercontinental belt."

"And I ain't proud of that moment, Gene Okerlund; what I'm doing right now is making up for that, yeah," Savage declared, "Instead of costing him the gold, I'm going to help him get it this time, because Mr. Perfect and the weasel Bobby Heenan are gonna do everything and a whole lot more to hold on to the gold, so I'm gonna counterbalance them and make sure the Dragon here has a good and fair shot, yeah!"

"I see, so this is your way of redeeming yourself for that terrible moment; well, certainly we all commend you for that, Randy Savage. Ricky Steamboat, any trepidation going into this match, especially given what you appearently seem to have gone through at this time?" Okerlund frowned again at Steamboat's injuries.

"Mr. Perfect," Steamboat glared towards the Intercontinental champion atop his ring cart, "You keep talking about YOUR belt, YOUR title; the Intercontinental title, and all the titles here in the WWF, are not for personal ownership; they must be earned, and you did not earn it back fairly. All the years I trained in Japan, I learned about the virtues of honor and hard work, and these are traits I and the millions of wrestling fans around the world hold dear. For my fans, and especially for my son," he held up Richie, who was amusingly decked out in a miniature version of his father's outfit, "and my wife, who I'm glad to have here in the Silverdome tonight, I will rain down dragon fire on Mr. Perfect's back, and give wrestling fans everywhere a champion they can be truly proud of. Let's go, Macho."

"OOOOOOOh yeah, let's free the belt!" Savage spun around out of the camera's frame, then led the Steamboat's towards their own cart. "Bravo, Macho, bravo," Perfect clapped mockingly across from them, "You might just win the Oscar for that one."

"I'm telling you something right now, Perfect, you and Heenan ain't gonna try any funny stuff in this one, or you're both going to get a Macho Madness hangover like you can't image, yeah!" Savage warned the champion and his manager.

"You should open your mouth a little wider when you talk, Macho; I can't understand you half the time," Heenan yawned, rubbing the Intercontinental belt around Perfect's waist proudly, "And not like you being out there's going to make much difference. Aw, did the poor Dragon hurt himself back in the locker room?" he mocked Steamboat, looking at his wounds.

"And I'll bet you knew all about it from the start, Heenan!" Steamboat thrust a finger in his face, "We know you're in with the mob; we know about Jack Tunney's bet with the Vincenelli Family; we recorded the whole conversation..."

"So what? It's not like you can do anything to stop it, Steamboat," Perfect told him curtly, "The new WWF is coming soon, and I'm going to be Intercontinental champion for life when it comes...and you and your rock 'n wrestling losers won't be able to get matches in Guam when the Vincenelli Family runs the show."

"You tell him, champ...and here we go, to glory!" Heenan declared with a dramatic arm sweep as the cart lurched forward towards the Silverdome arena. "The following contest is for the Intercontinental championship, scheduled for one fall," came Finkel's latest announcement on the other side of the curtain, followed by Perfect's theme starting up full blast, "Introducing first: approaching the ringside area with his perfect manager, Bobby 'the Brain' Heenan, from Robbinsdale, Minnesota, weighing 257 pounds, here is the World Wrestling Federation Intercontinental champion, Mr. Perfect!"

In the front row, Larry rose to his feet with a wide grin at the approaching cart. "I've been waiting for this moment for a long time," he told Angelo and the Harts proudly, "Ever since he came on the road with me at eight, I dreamed of seeing him coming to the ring at a major event with the gold. Now if it could just be the world title some day too..."

"Perhaps, Larry, but he'd better be careful in this one; Ricky Steamboat's easily a match for your boy," Angelo warned him.

"Maybe against someone else, but not tonight, Angelo," Larry merrily hummed along with his son's theme, waving his fingers as if conducting it. His grin grew wider once the cart reached ringside. "Curt, my boy, good luck in there," he told Perfect, pulling him into a warm bearhug, "I'm so proud of you..."

"I know, Dad, thanks, now could you not hug in public? I'm supposed to be perfect!" Perfect pulled away, but did give his father an appreciative smile. "Ah, the lovely Mrs. Steamboat; hubby's going down hard tonight," he told off Bonnie on the far end of the row.

"Rick will take you down," she told him defiantly.

"I don't think so. Here, hold this for us, toots," Heenan handed her Perfect's lucky perfect towel, "And be a good housewife and wash it for us during the match; we'll tip extra for keeping it clean."

He turned towards the ring, pausing only briefly when Bonnie growled and flung the towel at his backside. "I hate that Weasel, I really do!" she confided in the Hart sisters next to her.

"Which wrestling fans doesn't?" Alison shook her head softly, "I might have liked Perfect if he hadn't sided with him."

"Here you go, Mrs. Steamboat," one of the ring pages pulled the barricade open a crack. Bonnie rose up and slipped through it, her eyes darting briefly into the ring, where Heenan was holding the Intercontinental belt high to the booing Silverdome crowd, then turned towards the back of the aisle. The spotlight flashed onto the curtain at the exact moment "Sirius" came to life over the speakers, then followed the cart out to Finkel's follow-up announcement: "His opponent, and challenger: to be accompanied to the ring and seconded by 'Macho Man' Randy Savage, from Honolulu, Hawaii, weighing 237 pounds, Ricky 'the Dragon' Steamboat!"

"Hold on, something's not right," Ross was frowning, standing up for a better view, "He doesn't look a hundred percent if you ask me."

"What do...?" Bonnie's eyes went wider as the cart coasted to a stop at ringside. "Oh my God, Rick, what happened to you?" she gasped, seeing his wounds. Before he could say a word, her eyes zeroed in on Savage on the back of the cart. "You!" she snarled at him, taking Richie from her husband and shoving him into Angelo's hands at the railing, "I knew I couldn't trust you! How dare you try and do this to him, you...animal!"

"Wait, honey, it wasn't...!" Steamboat's attempt to explain was cut off as Perfect launched himself off the top rope and landed hard on the Dragon, interrupting him. He dragged the challenger towards the ring and rolled him in. Savage's attempt to follow off the cart was thwarted when Bonnie launched herself at him, knocked him down, and started pummeling him hard. "It was Flair, I swear...!" Savage tried to protest, but it became hard to get any words out when she started smashing his face into the cart floor. "Whoa, easy there, miss!" Angelo rose up, shocked to see his son being treated in that manner, "There's got to be some mistake here...my boy wouldn't...!"

But Bonnie wasn't listening, and to the great shock of the Macho Man's father, was surprisingly able to haul him off the cart and ram him head-first into the ring post. Savage crumpled to the floor, out cold. "That's what you get for trying to end his career again!" she barked sharply at him, snatching her son back off Angelo, who leaped over the railing to come to his son's aid, and stormed back to her seat. "What a start to this one; Perfect in the corner pummeling Steamboat hard, while the Dragon's wife appears to have knocked Savage clear into next week," Monsoon was equally stunned by everything from the broadcast position.

"Well can you blame her, Gorilla? She never trusted Savage, and you saw all the wounds he had when he came out," Ventura pointed out with a wry smile.

"I'm sure there's a better explanation for that than what she thinks; Randy Savage no longer does anything like that."

"Oh yeah, what do you call his sneak attack on Hogan the night he lost the title?"

"For the record, Jesse, from what I'm hearing, you caused a lot of that yourself in your jealousy towards the Hulkster."

"Well you heard wrong..."

"In the meantime, Macho Man is out cold, it looks like, depriving the Dragon of his agreed cornerman for this match. His father Angelo Poffo, having been given a front row seat for this event, trying to revive him-and here comes Elizabeth up the aisle; she looks like she's in tears."

"Well, she's a bit late, Gorilla; where was she when Mrs. Steamboat was doing a number on him? Not exactly as loyal as you'd want us to believe."

"Will you stop!? Elizabeth helping Angelo lift Randy Savage up; she gives a rather sharp look at Bonnie there before, yes, they're taking him back. Macho Man being carried back to the locker room by his wife and father; we can only hope he's all right."

"Who cares about that; look in the ring, Gorilla; Perfect with a tremendous suplex on the Dragon! He's been dominating this match from the start; Steamboat didn't even get out of his ring clothes yet."

"Dragon taking a whipping thus far-whoa, what a hard chop to the face by Perfect, who now picks him up and gives him an atomic drop. Perfect looking very confident, whips him into the far ropes, sets up...no, Steamboat tricks him with a dropkick! Steamboat with that intimindating dragon pose of his, and finally getting out of his ring gear-and gets flattened by Perfect on the rebound."

"Good alertness; that's why Perfect's a great champion."

"Reverse knife edge by the champion, and another; he's going right for Steamboat's throat."

"Hey, nothing Steamboat doesn't do, Gorilla."

"Oh really!? Perfect throws Steamboat into the corner hard, he rushes him-no, Steamboat leaps over top of him, and Perfect hits the corner hard-and Steamboat pulls him down into a small package! One, two...no."

"Mr. Perfect does not go down on the first pin, ever. Steamboat's going to have to pull out all the stops to bring him down in this one."

"Just like Perfect's going to pull out all the stops to hold onto the title, as he has done in the past. Like right now, in fact; Perfect stomping roughly on the chest of the downed Dragon, and now he drops the shoulder hard into it as well. Whip into the ropes-and Steamboat goes airborne and takes him down with a high cross body! One, two...big kickout by Perfect..."

"Yeah, look; he sent him right out of the ring! That's the strength of Mr. Perfect."

"And look at this; Heenan smothering Steamboat on the mats outside the ring, holding him down; I think he's trying to force a countout; give me a break!"

"Well, it keeps the title for Perfect, so might as well go for it, I say."

"Steamboat kicks out from under the Brain and shoves him aside..."

"Now he can't do that; you cannot manhandle a manager!"

"That was justice for what the Brain did to him just now. Perfect hauling Steamboat back up into...no, Steamboat rams the head into the chest...and look at this, the Dragon takes flight over the top rope and grabs the legs for a sunset flip! Perfect grabbing the top rope to fight it, holding on...and down he goes! One, two...no. Steamboat with the momentum now, though, hauls him up and gives him a series of hard chops to the face..."

"Yeah, those patently illegal moves of his that Tunney magically lets slide..."

"They are perfectly legal, Jesse. Perfect thrown hard into the corner-and he goes halfway up over the turnbuckle and out of the ring! Steamboat climbing up the apron, grabbing hold of him; are we going to see a suplex off the ropes here? Yes indeed, and another cover: one, two...Perfect rolls it over for a cover of his own: one, two...also no."

"You see, Perfect's going to do that a lot, Monsoon; he is not going to let the Dragon keep him down for long."

"Perfect back up first...whoa, a hard kick to Steamboat's face there; that was about a fifty year field goal there. Another kick, this time to the chest-and Perfect throws him right out of the ring...no, wait, Steamboat grabbed the top rope, and he's reversing back in!"

"Turn around, Perfect, he's coming back!" Ventura shouted a warning to the champion, who did in fact turn and see Steamboat charging right at him. He grabbed hold of the challenger and threw him out the ropes on the other side of the ring, but again Steamboat grabbed the top rope and reversed back into the ring. He then charged the celebrating Perfect, who this time did not see him, and drop kicked him clean out of the ring to a tremendous ovation from the fans. "Tremendous move there by the Dragon-and now he's going on to the top rope for more!" Monsoon roared, "Heenan trying to get his man out of the way-no dice; Steamboat down hard on the champ! Steamboat smashes Perfect's head into the apron and rolls him back in; going up again...and Heenan grabs the leg; come on! Steamboat shakes him off; he's up on the top rope, ready to take flight once more...diving chop sends Perfect down again! Hooks the leg: one, two...no. Steamboat whips Perfect into the ropes...whoa, and he slaps on a flying sleeper hold! Steamboat pouring on the sleeper..."

"I don't know if he's got it locked, Gorilla."

"Not totally, it doesn't look like, no, but enough to make a difference here. Perfect starting to slide down; we get another glimpse of wife Bonnie and son Richie in the front row, leaning forward in anticipation, hoping this is about to lead to the change of the title. Perfect still wilting; referee Dave Hebner grabs hold of the arm; let's see here, one drop...two drops..."

"Nope, held it up," Ventura pointed at Perfect's arm firmly held in the air.

"Steamboat releasing the hold, another pair of chops to the face, now whips the champion into the ropes again, and a tremendous karate kick sends Perfect out of the ring again! Perfect stumbling to his feet, turns towards...wait a minute, I think he's leaving," he frowned at the sight of Perfect bustling rapidly towards the aisle, Heenan rushing after him, "Yeah, Perfect's walking out; he doesn't want any more."

"Well, I can't blame him; if he feels Steamboat's too tough a customer, you might as well walk and not risk an injury; that's rather smart on Perfect's part."

"It's cowardice if you ask me; he'll keep the title the hard way this way...wait a minute, Steamboat's barrelling after him; he's not letting him go that easily! Steamboat grabs Perfect from behind-whoa, he ripped the singlet half off!"

"But can he get him into the ring in time; the count's at seven now."

"Heenan grabbing hold of Perfect's legs; he doesn't want his man back into the ring, but Steamboat too strong; the count is at eight, nine...he just got him back in, and he dragged the Brain in with him. Steamboat going up again; Brain trying to protect his man from another attack; Dave Hebner ordering him out of the ring. Heenan waving his arms over his head, trying to beg Steamboat off; Steamboat shakes his head no, and here he comes-and he nails them both!"

"Poor sportsmanship on Steamboat's part; he deliberately tried to injure Heenan there!" the Body complained.

"Heenan had fair warning to get out of harm's way, and he ignored it. Steamboat hooks the leg again: one...and the Brain rolls them over! Hebner waving his arms and yelling at him to get out of the ring; he's not going to accept that cover! And behind him, Steamboat rolls him over again: one, two, three, four, five; turn around, Mr. Hebner!"

"He's too busy yelling at Heenan; this is why I think Dave Hebner-assuming this IS Dave Hebner-is a terrible ref."

"Hebner finally turns around and sees the cover: one, two...Perfect kicks out. If only he'd seen it sooner."

"Well he didn't, so there."

"Steamboat right back up, a couple more chops into the breadbasket, now whips Perfect into the corner, and whoa, a flying splash on him and a beauty! Now he's...hold the phone, what was that?" Monsoon frowned, craning his head to pick up an echoing sound in the arena, "That sounded an awful lot like a gunshot..."

"Well, nobody's screaming, and Perfect and the Dragon are still going at it full tilt, so I guess you're just hearing things, Gorilla," the Body scoffed.

"I sincerely hope so, Jesse. Steamboat, meanwhile, sends Perfect into the ropes, goes airborne and locks onto the back; he's going for a crucifix..."

"No way; Perfect slams him down hard onto his back; I love it!" Ventura rubbed his hands eagerly as Perfect abruptly threw himself backwards to break the hold, "Now cover him, quick!"

Perfect indeed dove on Steamboat for the cover, but could only manage a two. "Mr. Perfect with a second wind here, drags Steamboat up and whoa, a hard chop to the face; he looks mad to have been through the wringer as he was these last few minutes. Throws the Dragon into the corner...and then some, whoa; I think the ring literally moved from the force of that one! Perfect throws in a flying chop to the face for good measure; Steamboat stumbles out of the corner and falls down on the mat. Trying to get up, but here comes Perfect, leapfrogging over him-whoa, big neck snapper there, and a beauty. A loud cheer now coming up from Mr. Perfect's father, who's there in the front row..."

"Old hero of mine, Larry 'the Axe' Henning, and I can't begin to guess how proud he is right now that his son's taking it to the chump Steamboat," Ventura remarked as the camera focused on Larry.

"Indeed he does look proud; the Axe seems to be shouting for his son to give the Dragon a piledriver...and it looks like that's what Perfect's going to do; he's turning Steamboat over...and a spot-on piledriver. Hooks the leg: one, two...no. Perfect beginning to look a bit more frustrated, dishes out a gutwrench suplex that takes the Dragon down again. Perfect starting to climb the ropes; let's see what he's got in mind here. Perfect leaps...no, Steamboat gets the knees up, and Perfect's groaning in agony! Steamboat off the ropes, takes the champ down with an armdrag; Perfect back up, goes off the ropes himself, and gets another armdrag for his trouble. Steamboat planting the knee on Perfect's back and twisting the arm, trying to wear him down; Heenan screaming at his man not to give in..."

"Well Heenan need not worry; Perfect won't give up, that's for sure."

"Indeed he won't; Perfect with a rake of the eyes with his free hand to break the hold. And now a drop kick sends Steamboat into the corner. Perfect backs up and rushes him-Steamboat ducks and he hits the ringpost at thirty miles an hour; this place is going bananas!"

"So what; Steamboat hasn't won anything yet."

"Steamboat pulls him down into a small package: one, two...foot was on the ropes. Slingshot being set up-yes! Perfect looking dazed, and now he's flung into the far corner-leaps over the Dragon backwards when he rushes him-but Steamboat sends him reeling with a chop to the face. Dragon going up again..."

"Perfect's going up too; he intercepted him up there-and now they're going at it full force on the top rope!" Ventura exclaimed.

"Both men slugging away hard on each other atop the ropes; let's see who gets the upper hand in this one...Mr. Perfect with a low blow knee that sends Steamboat crumpling to the mat below, and here comes Perfect...down hard on the chest. A cover: one, two...no. Perfect scoops the Dragon up, and there's a big slam, and another cover: one, two...again no. Perfect looking very frustrated now, whips Steamboat into the ropes-whoa, tremendous clothesline takes him down again, and a third cover: one, two...Dragon kicks out again. And Perfect's furious; he's yelling in Dave Hebner's face that he's counting slow."

"And I think he has a point there, Gorilla, I think Hebner is counting slow for Perfect so far in this match...so maybe this IS Earl."

"The counts have been very fair for both men as far as I can see it-and, I'll remind you, Earl Hebner has been fingerprinted and will not be allowed near a WWF ring for at least the next five years. Perfect continuing to argue with Hebner as Steamboat starts getting to his feet behind his back. Heenan screaming for his man to turn around, but Perfect too busy arguing with Hebner...and Steamboat pulls him down into a small package: one, two...just missed the three there."

"Now that was a fast count, Gorilla; you cannot deny that!"

"It was not! Steamboat with a diving chop to the champion's face; again we look on Larry Henning and Bonnie Steamboat watching with great trepidation there in the front row; one of them will be very happy and one will not when this is all over. And Steamboat off the ropes, drops the leg on Perfect, and another cover: one, two...not quite. Snap suplex, and he's got the shoulders down in a cradle: one, two...again just missed. Dragon whips Perfect into the ropes, takes him down with another armdrag, and yet another cover: one, two...again no. Dropkick into the corner, and the Dragon climbing up to the top again; he's going to take flight once more...diving chop takes Perfect down again. Steamboat hooks the leg: one, two...again he just misses."

"How many two counts have we had, Gorilla? There's got to have been at least a dozen so far."

"At least; probably more. Steamboat going up again; I think he's going to...and that sounded like another gunshot..." Monsoon glanced wildly around the arena, "They weren't calling for thunderstorms in the Detroit area, and I don't know what else could make that sound; someone is shooting in this building, Jesse, and look at Steamboat; he heard it, he jumped off the top rope, and he's looking around nervously; maybe they were aiming for him..."

"Oh come on, Gorilla; you say all the time this is family entertainment now; who would possibly introduce guns into a wrestling match?"

"I think you may know a lot more than you're willing to say on air, Jesse," Monsoon glared at him, "Steamboat going back up, looking cautiously around, prepares to...wait a minute, what's this; who's that coming down the...?" Monsoon frowned at a pair of figures running towards ringside, "It's King Flair and Queen Sherri; what are they doing down here? Sherri running towards where Steamboat's about to jump; look out...and she shoves his legs out from under him, and the Dragon topples down to the mats outside the ring...!"

"What took you two so long!?" Heenan upbraided the newcomers, "You should have been out here five minutes ago!"

"I had business to take care of, Heenan," Sherri took a brief glance as a small piece of paper in hand reading, _"Sherri-Marty's always been the slow one. Meet me in the parking lot after the show; I've always wanted to break out solo. Your hopeful boy toy, Shawn_.", before pocketing it and joining Flair in slugging and kicking the downed Steamboat. "No, no, no!" Tunney roared furiously, storming over, "Get out of here, both of you! I want you backstage until the main event!"

"Not until I finish what I started earlier, Tunney, WOOOOOO!" Flair picked Steamboat up and dropped him throat-first on the top of the barricade directly in front of his wife. "Oh my God...!" Bonnie had turned pale upon hearing her former acquaintance's words, "You mean...!?"

"That's what I was trying to say, honey; it was_ him_, not Randy!" Steamboat just managed to blurt out before Sherri kicked him in the face.

"Oh my God, what have I done...!?" his bride was now horrified at what she had put Savage through earlier.

"You did Perfect a good favor, sweetheart. And you've still got a shot at Space Mountain, WOOOOO!" Flair roared in her face.

"Get them out of here!" Tunney ordered an approaching security agent, who forcibly pushed the King and Queen up the aisle and away from ringside. "Finally, those two miscreants are out of here," Monsoon sighed wearily in relief, "Perfect trying to drag the dazed Steamboat back into the ring-no, the Dragon still with a degree of fight, elbowing him in the chest, and now one to the head to make him let go. Steamboat starting to climb...uh oh, Flair dropped his scepter at ringside, and the Brain's got it; he's coming up from behind; look out...oh no!" Monsoon grimaced as Heenan cracked Steamboat hard in the face with the scepter the moment he turned towards him, "No, not like this! Steamboat's face is busted wide open! The Dragon crumples into the ring, right into Perfect's arms..."

"And he's setting him up for the PerfectPlex; this is all she wrote," Ventura rubbed his hands eagerly, "Here we go...PerfectPlex! One, two...WHAT!?" he gasped as Steamboat managed to kick out, "That's impossible! NOBODY gets out of the PerfectPlex!"

"Well the Dragon just did, Jesse. Perfect looking stunned; he can't believe it either..."

"Give him another one, Curt! Give him another one!" Larry shouted at his son, who nodded firmly, cinched Steamboat back into position, and delivered another spot-on PerfectPlex...but again Steamboat kicked out at the last possible moment. Furious, Perfect stormed out of the ring. "What's he doing now?" Monsoon frowned, "He's going to the timekeeper's table...uh oh, he's trying to get the bell off the timekeeper...!"

"Well, I can't blame him for thinking this way, Gorilla; if he's planning what I think he is, he's simply going by history, as this is what put Steamboat out of commission before."

"You just try to win the match; you don't put the other guy out of commission! Perfect has the bell, and he's climbing up to the top rope; he's going to hit the Dragon in the throat with it just like Savage did! Get him down from there, someone! Bonnie's looking horrified in the front row; the nightmare's about to play itself out for her again...!"

"Well, if she wants to stop it, she might as well get in there and try and stop Perfect..."

"Wait a minute, what's this?" Monsoon's eyes zipped back to the aisle, where another familiar figure was running out, "The Macho Man is back! Randy Savage running hard for Perfect's corner, pushes past Heenan when the Brain tries to stop him-and the Macho Man shoves Perfect off the top rope just before he can jump; I think Perfect hit himself in the head with the bell on the way down!"

"This is terrible, Gorilla; Savage should have been barred from coming back after he was led out! If Jack Tunney was so adamant about getting rid of Flair and Sherri, he should be on his feet ordering Savage back to the locker room right now too instead of sitting there like a stump!"

"What Flair and Sherri did was unprovoked; Savage just made up for his earlier mistake in doing the same thing to the Dragon. Both men lying on the mat; Hebner laying the count on them both. Who will get up first!?"

"It's Perfect, he's crawling over, and he's got the cover again; one, two...OH COME ON!" Ventura roared as Steamboat yet again kicked out at the last possible moment, "Why can't this match just end!? Perfect's won this fifty times over!"

"Not yet he hasn't. Perfect looking very angry that he hasn't been able to put Steamboat away, hauling his opponent up once more, and a hard reverse knife edge to the face. Extremely rough toss into the corner-I think the ring moved again from that one-and another brutal chop to the face. Perfect furiously pushing Steamboat into the ropes, pulls him down into a crucifix...no, the Dragon reverses him over, and he's got the champ's shoulders pinned down! One, two, THREE! THE DRAGON FINALLY WINS THE INTERCONTINENTAL TITLE!"

**"NOOOOOOOOOO!"** Heenan's agonized scream could be heard in the highest reaches of the Silverdome. The Brain slumped to the floor, sobbing like a baby. This was counterbalanced by Bonnie's ecstatic shriek of delight as she leaped over the barriers, Richie still in hand, rushed into the ring, and hugged her husband close. "We did it! We did it!" she gasped happily.

"No he didn't; he pulled the tights!" a livid Perfect roared at her, fuming all over. "Don't you dare announce him the champion, Howard!" he threatened the ring announcer as he entered the ring, microphone in hand, "I want a replay, I want a match restart, I want...!"

"Ladies and gentlemen," Finkel announced, ignoring him, "The winner of this bout, and NEEEEEEEEWWW World Wrestling Federation Intercontinental champion, Ricky 'the Dragon' Steamboat!"

Roaring in rage, Perfect stormed out of the ring, flipped the timekeeper's table over, tossed several steel chairs into the crowd, then picked up and smashed several expensive -looking television monitors at ringside. "Calm down, Curt, please!" Tunney warned him, striding over, "You're setting a bad example...!"

"Shut up, Tunney; he held the tights, and you can't protect him! I'm still the Intercontinental champion!" Perfect bellowed.

"He did not have the tights in his hand, Curt; it was a fair pinfall, and you have to accept that," the WWF President stressed, unable to suppress a grin.

"Son, let it go," Larry leaned forward out of his seat, looking upset, "I'm just as sad you lost too, but you can't hold on to..."

"Shut up, Dad; it's my title and I'm getting it back!" Perfect roared at him, storming furiously up the aisle towards the dressing room to loud jeering from the crowd. Larry shook his head softly. "He'll calm down eventually," he told his seatmates, "Better go have a word with him, though; he'll calm down quicker if he hears it from me."

He got up from his seat. "You know, I could swear I heard a gun going off at some point in the match," Ross was frowning.

"I did too, Ross," he father scanned the ringside area, frowning himself, "Very distinctly. If I didn't know any better, I'd say Mr. Steamboat had been a target..."

Inside the ring, Savage carried the Intercontinental belt to the bleeding but triumphant Steamboat. "I believe this belongs to you, Mr. Dragon, oooooooohh yeah!" he declared, laying it on his teammate's shoulder and raising his hand.

"Thanks for coming back, Macho," the Dragon thanked him between deep breaths.

"Hey, you did all the work, champ, and that was one heck of a match with the guy too," Savage rubbed his hair. "Nevertheless," he frowned at Bonnie, "Since I guess you can see now I wasn't the guy who attacked him, don't I get something?"

"I guess so. I'm sorry, Macho, I guess...I guess I prejudiced you," she confessed with a heavy head, "I feel horrible about what I did to you before the match; I should have let Rick explain in full..."

"Well, I should be ticked off, but hey, you just did the same thing I'd do for Elizabeth any time. So, why dwell when we can celebrate, ooooooooh yeah!" he raised her arm as well, then walked over and held the ropes for them. "Sorry, Bobby, better luck next time, yeah," the Macho Man mocked Heenan, still sobbing and pounding the mat with his fists. "And the best part is," he whispered in Steamboat's ear as they all climbed aboard the cart for the trip back to the locker room, "That's three out of four belts right there, so Tunney wins the game with the mob, yeah."

* * *

"I want to see your boss, gentlemen," a triumphant Tunney approached Don Vincenelli's suite a few minutes later, gesturing for the guards to open the door.

"Come on in, Tunney; he's been expecting you," the head guard threw it open for him. "All right Vincenelli, that's a majority of the belts, therefore..." the WWF president stopped in mid-sentence and mid-stride, his eyes going unexpectedly wide. "Ann, Jane, Jackie, what's...?" he gasped to see his wife and daughters being held at wide-eyed gunpoint on the sofa in the rear of the suite. "What is the meaning of this, Vincenelli!?" he demanded to the crime lord, "We had...!"

"Change of plans, Jack," Don Vincenelli spoke up loudly without turning around in his armchair, "The world championship is now all or nothing; Flair wins, I win; Savage wins, you win-but I don't think he will."

"You cannot change the deal on the fly!" Tunney bellowed furiously at him, "When I make a deal, I set it in stone...!"

"That's your way of doing business, Jack, and this is mine," the don yawned, "Now, if you have a problem with that, perhaps your family can become part of the negotiation..."

"I want them out of the negotiation and out of here; I do not want them being dragged into this! Now either your let them go this instant, or...!"

The sounds of guns clicking in the darkened room echoed loudly. "Actually, Jack, they'll be staying here with us until after the main event; just a way of making sure you agree that everything's now riding on the world title match," Don Vincenelli told him softly but coldly, "And if you get cold feet and call security to get them out, well, my colleagues here might not have any choice but to liquidate. Now, why don't you run along and make sure some more of my people win in the last two matches before the main event?"

Tunney glared furiously at his nemesis. "I won fair and square...!" he growled, giving his family a pained, regretful look, "And I did not want innocents dragged into this! Furthermore, I heard your goons shooting at Ricky up here in the last match; I do not want my wrestlers to be under the gun, even for your bet!"

"Sorry, Jack, can't make any guarantees. Tootleloo," the don waved him off. Two burly thugs dragged the WWF president out the door. "You sure told him, Uncle Kenny," Stefano commended his uncle.

"One only needs to know how to play the game to stay one step ahead of the competition, Stefano," Don Vincenelli lit up another cigarette with a satisfied expression. "So just sit tight, ladies," he told the shaking Tunneys behind him, "We'll going to be here a little while until the WWF is officially mine in about another half hour or so..."


	11. Chapter 11

He had only enough time to wonder how

"I sure hope Ricky was able to beat Perfect," an oblivious Hulk wondered out loud as he leaned on one foot against the side of the escalator descending from the gates at the Detroit Metropolitan Wayne County Airport (the plane's TVs had been turned off and retracted into the roof for landing before the Intercontinental match had ended), "I'd hate for everything to come down to the world title match, and we couldn't get there on time."

"There were still two more matches on the card, Hulk; I think we still have enough time," Marella remarked behind him on the escalator. He had been given extra medication by his doctor on the plane, and was looking more or less back to normal by now.

"I hope so, Joey," Hulk hobbled on his cane towards the phone bank, digging through the phone book underneath one phone. "Damn, no listed phone number for the Silverdome! All right, we'll just have to go there, then; Mrs. Kane, the wheelchair," he called to her on the escalator.

"Give me a minute, Mr. Hogan, give me a minute," she mumbled, struggling to get it unfolded.

"Actually, I think I can walk well enough now, Hulk," Marella told him, and indeed, he seemed just fine when he walked in a circle to demonstrate.

"Good. Never mind, Mrs. Kane; let's catch a cab, quick." Hulk hobbled across the terminal, shaking off the bystanders calling for an autograph. Ordinarily he'd be more than happy to oblige, but time was of the essence...

"What do we do when we get to the Silverdome, Hulk?" Timmy asked him, jogging briskly alongside him now.

"We see what the progress is, little dude; if the main event started by the time we get there, we head down to the ring and get Mr. Marella in to ref the match; if not, we call Mr. Tunney; with the info we have now, he might just be able to disqualify Flair before Randy even has to step into the ring; cab, cab!" Hulk waved his hands wildly the moment he exited the terminal-and as luck would have it, a cab immediately pulled over to the curb. "Five of us, to the Silverdome, and hurry," he instructed the driver.

"You're Hulk Hogan, aren't you?" the driver blinked to make sure.

"Yeah, yeah, and this is critical to the future of wrestling, so step on it," Hulk pressed, half-tumbling into the front seat. He breathed a sigh of relief. "I think we've got it made now," he told the rest of his crew in the back. He leaned back in his seat as the taxi pulled up the ramp onto Interstate 94 eastbound...

...straight into a colossal traffic jam stretching as far as the eye could see. "What is this!?" the former champion protested.

"Uh, Dispatch, I see a major parking lot ahead of me on I-94; what's the status there?" the driver asked through his radio.

"Two trucks jackknifed up the road about five minutes ago; hopefully it'll be clear in ten minutes or so, if we're lucky," the dispatcher buzzed over the radio.

"We may not have ten minutes, brother; it's still at least a half hour to the Silverdome from here!" Hulk smacked the dashboard in frustration, wondering how so many delays could seem to be popping up...

* * *

"Mr. Tunney, are you all right there?" Davey took note of the company president trudging up the hall with a long expression.

"Not really, Davey; things are bad," Tunney slid against the wall and buried his face in his hands, "Everything may just be all for nothing..."

"Is it about the Vincenelli Mob?" the British Bulldog waved into the locker room, "We know all about the bet; we recorded the whole thing..."

"You were there?" Tunney's head snapped up, "Do you realize how much danger you all put yourselves in...?"

"Well, it doesn't matter now, does it; the Million Dollar Corporation lost the tag and Intercontinental titles..." Bret stuck his head out.

"They have Ann and the girls," the WWF president lamented with a sob, making the brother-in-laws' jaws drop in shock, "I should have known they'd play dirty, just like everyone in the Million Dollar Corporation that works for them. And I know full well they'll go even further over the line to make sure Flair holds on to the world title..."

"Well, tell us where they're holding them; we'll get them out," the Boss Man volunteered, stepping forward with his nightstick in hand.

"I'm sorry, Ray; I can't put my wrestlers' lives in any danger," Tunney shook his head softly. He slowly sank forward. "Was it all a pipe dream? Uncle Frank dreamed of taking the sport of wrestling globally, making it accessible to all of the masses; showing everyone all the magic we could make in the ring. I believed the dream, but that it could be done cleanly, without fixing, without cheating, that it could be pure, unadulterated athleticism at it's finest. I should have known better; the fixers are just too entrenched; they're not going to let go of the sport no matter how mainstream and family-friendly we try to make it. They want wrestling to be sex-filled bloodbaths; they have the power to make it that way, and they will..."

"Mr. Tunney, I don't think your dream is a pipe dream at all," Bret stepped out into the hall, gesturing his teammates to come forward as well, "I believed in it from the moment you approached my father with the offer to buy up Stampede; all of us reached it in our own ways. And what you've done for the sport has been incalculable; just listen out there," he gestured up the hall to the cheering crowds inside the Silverdome, "That might just be close to a hundred thousand people out there, and they're all here because you believed we could put together the greatest wrestling extravaganza the world's ever known. Your dream's worked, Mr. Tunney, and we'll all be damned if we let a pack of cutthroats snatch it away."

"Darn right," the Boss Man declared, flipping his nightstick in the air and catching, "So don't you worry about a thing, Mr. Tunney; we'll make sure the Vincenelli Family doesn't get away with any of this-starting with getting your family out of their clutches..."

* * *

"Back at last, I see," Diana greeted Bonnie as she returned to her seat with Richie, "He doing OK?"

"They're treating his face, but he should be fine; I just can't believe we finally did it," Bonnie let out an excited shriek, "All this time Rick's aimed for the Intercontinental belt, and it's finally come to pass."

"Good for you; at least one of us'll be leaving here happy," Diana grumbled at the reminder of her own husband's defeat earlier in the evening.

"You're just jealous that Jim's the better wrestler, and would whip Davey's hide if they ever went one on one," Ellie leaned over with a smug smile.

"I'm warning you, Ellie, don't get me started again!" her sister warned her.

"Yes, don't, please, as I've said before, we've all had enough with the two of you bickering all night!" Alison grumbled herself, pulling baby Brooke close. "Ah, you're back, Mr. Henning, Mr. Poffo," she noticed the two legendary wrestlers returning, "Everything OK?"

"Curt's still too mad to listen; might as well just give him some more time," Larry looked glum, "And for a moment there, it looked like he was going to win..."

"Well, it just wasn't his night," Bonnie grinned, "But no hard feelings, though; Mr. Perfect did put up a good, if too rough, fight."

"Much appreciated, Mrs. Steamboat. How about you, Angelo?" Larry asked his fellow legend, "Obviously Randy was OK in the end..."

"Yes, and I'm certainly relieved, although the doctor shooed me out before he got revived," Angelo admitted, "So I wasn't quite able to...well, tell him I still loved him and I was still proud of him. I must say though, although I didn't get much of a chance to talk to her, his bride really cares for him; she wouldn't leave his side while he was out, and held his hand the whole time."

"And I am sorry I snapped at him, now that I know it was Flair who beat Rick up backstage," Bonnie apologized to him as well, "If I'd known then..."

"Heeeello," it was Neidhart and Owen sliding into the two open seats behind the Harts. "We said we'd be out, and here we are," the Anvil declared.

"We were waiting, Daddy," Natalya grinned at him.

"And I for you, sweetheart," he pulled her close to a hug, then kissed her mother warmly. "Ah, Bruce, we meet again," he immediately turned to the second oldest Hart child, who gulped nervously, "For your sake, I hope you told Mr. Hart everything."

"Uh, well, uh..."

"Bruce has admitted to looking into dubious monetary sources for New Stampede, Jim," Stu told him, frowning, "Was there more I should know about, Bruce...!?"

"Um, well, Dad, um..."

"Why don't we speed this up; word from back in the locker room is Jack Tunney's wife and daughters are being held at gunpoint in a luxury suite somewhere in the building by the infamous Vincenelli mob. Was that was you wanted, Bruce?" Neidhart glared at him. Bruce meekly looking back and forth between the scowling Anvil and Owen and his frowning father, and burst into tears. "All right, I admit it; I told Kennedesco Vincenelli to use the twin referee angle to get the title off Hogan in exchange for enough money to keep New Stampede afloat forever; it was my option of last resort and I made them swear not to hurt anyone; I wanted to back out after Hogan got locked in the coffin; they forced me to keep the money...!"

"Oh really!?" Owen grabbed his brother's arm and twisted it.

"OK, OK, I still wanted to keep New Stampede afloat; I wouldn't have agreed if I'd known they'd go this far, shooting at Steamboat and going after Tunney's family; I hate Tunney, but I didn't want this to happen! And I'll confess it; I forged your name onto the bank forms back at the Survivor Series, Dad; I thought we might keep New Stampede running if we sold the house. I'm sorry, Dad; please don't kill me!" he crumpled penitently at his father's feet.

"Bruce, Bruce," Stu shook his head grimly, "Didn't I tell you to run a business honestly? What good is New Stampede to the wrestling world if it's held up by crooked finances?"

"I had to prove myself to you, Dad; I had to be as good as you were...New Stampede was the only way..."

"Bruce, listen to me," Stu bent down to his level, surprisingly calm, "You didn't have to prove yourself to me; I love you as much as I love all of my kids," he smiled at all of them, "And I've always been proud of you. You made a big mistake now, though, so I hope you're prepared to do whatever it takes to make it right...and that includes letting New Stampede wither if that's what it takes."

"Bret and everyone made me promise to give the money back; I'll do it," Bruce agreed softly, "I didn't want anyone to get hurt, honestly I didn't...all those years growing up in Stampede, it became a lifestyle to me; no matter how much the business changed, I didn't want to let go..."

"We all have to let go sometimes, darling," Helen pulled him into a sympathetic hug, "You and the others will have to let go some day when your father and I go," she shot a worried glance at Dean and his dialysis machine, "But a lot of the time, we have to let go if we want to move on. We can't live with what doesn't exist anymore. Oh yes, remember it fondly, but don't dwell too much; then you forget how to live."

"So, you're not mad?" he glanced at his parents.

"A little, yes, but as long as you do the right thing from here on, Bruce, we can certainly forgive," Stu assured him, looking firm but forgiving. Bruce sighed in relief just as the ring bell sounded again. "The following contest is a special twelve man tag team match, scheduled for one fall," Finkel announced the twenty-first match of the evening, "There will be no disqualifications, and falls will count anywhere in the building. A wrestler will, if pinned outside the ring, have sixty seconds to get back into the ring, or their team will be declared the loser. And now, introducing team number one."

The familiar obnoxious hardcore rap theme kicked in as the spotlight picked up the first cart emerging from the tunnel of the now further darkened Silverdome. "At a total combined weight of 1,722 pounds," the announcer continued, "First, managed by Bobby 'the Brain' Heenan, from Tampa, Florida, the team of Hercules and Paul Roma; Power and Glory! Managed by 'Classy' Fred Blassie, from parts unknown, the team of the Warlord and the Barbarian; the Powers of Pain! And, managed by the Mouth of the South, Jimmy Hart, from Allentown, Pennsylvania, the team of Brian Knobbs and Jerry Saggs; the Nasty Boys!"

"Here we go," Neidhart rubbed his hands eagerly, "This was what I've been looking forward to all night; an all-out street brawl."

"Look at the Brain!" Owen broke into laughter, pointing at Heenan on the cart. He was now wearing a knight's helmet and a very visible bulletproof vest, and was hunching as low as possible behind Hercules and Roma, which made the rest of the arena crack up in laughter as well. "He's sure worried they're going to take it out on him for Perfect losing."

"The question is, who does this match favor? Both sides are good old-fashioned brawlers," Larry pointed out, "And with no disqualifications, they appear to be evenly matched."

"L.O.D. and the others on their team don't cheat, Mr. Henning," Dallas told him.

"Oh I know that, little guy, but giving the strength to strength matchups, it would appear to be whoever wants it more," the Axe clarified.

"Well, given that, Larry, I think that..." Stu was cut off as Knobbs seized his head and rubbed it into his armpit as he walked by. "Even legends need Pit Stops!" the blonde Nasty Boy laughed mockingly, high-fiving his partner in celebration at the successful Pit Stop.

"No, I didn't need that, thank you, thank you very much," Stu glared at him. "Confidentially, I do hope the other team wins it," he confided in Larry and Angelo, "They at least have class, not like these three teams."

"They should be coming out any minute now..." Angelo in fact got his answer as Hawk's carnal roar of, "OOOOOOOOOHH, WHAT A RUUUUUSSH!" came over the sound system, sending the crowd into a frenzy as the electric guitars kicked in-accompanied by the sounds of motorcycle engines revving up from behind the curtain. And indeed, just like at Summer Slam, Paul Ellering came roaring out the tunnel on a Harley, his men and their teammates following right behind on motorcycles of their own. "Their opponents are collectively managed by 'Precious' Paul Ellering, and are at a total combined weight of 1,670 pounds," Finkel continued, "First, from New Zealand, Luke and Butch; the Bushwhackers! From parts unknown, Ax and Smash; Demolition! And, from Chicago, Illinois, Hawk and Animal; the Legion of Doom!"

"Showboats," Smith snorted dismissively, "Anything to get the fans all riled up."

"And, for the record, Smith, we like it; L.O.D.! L.O.D.!" Keith cheered for the spike-wearing wrestlers as their bikes skidded to a stop nearby. Hawk and Animal gave him thumbs up, then walked down the line, high fiving each Hart. "Autographs, huh?" Hawk noticed Dallas extending his book towards him, "WEEEEEELLL, why not, I say."

"Save some for us too, Hawk; we do it as well," Luke came bouncing up behind the Legion of Doom, "In the meantime," he removed his Bushwhacker cap and tilted his head towards Dallas, "How about a rub for good luck, mate?"

Dallas indeed gave the Bushwhacker's head a rub down. "Make sure there's enough to go around, Cousin Luke; we each want the luck, don't we?" Butch extended his head for a rub as well. Both Bushwhackers then signed their names to the program once Hawk and Animal had finished. "Well, wish us luck, it's go time for the Thunder from Down Under!" Luke bellowed when they were done. He and Butch did the Bushwhacker Bounce into and all around the ring, to the visible consternation of their opponents. "Bushwhackers on a roll in this one; suffice to say, they're ready for this match to get underway," Monsoon noted from the broadcast position.

"Yeah, but that doesn't win you the match; they've got to get the pin, and I hope they have enough brain power to realize that," Ventura cracked, glancing at his watch with a little impatience.

"Everybody just about out of their ring attire now; Paul Ellering waving his men closer for a last minute conference..."

"I don't know why he wanted to try his hand at working with the Bushwhackers, Gorilla; managing the Bushwhackers should be classified by the U.N. as torture and cruel and unusual punishment."

"Will you stop!? As Howard pointed out, there'll be no disqualifications in this one, and falls will count anywhere in the building, although those that might take place in the ring are still just as good. Otherwise, regular tag team rules will apply. There goes the bell, and it'll be Smash starting off against Hercules-and Herc cracking his chain at Smash like a whip; he doesn't want to give him any leeway here..."

"Why not; if you can do anything, you might as well go for broke in this one."

"Smash grabs hold of the chain and gives it a good yank forward-and Herc clotheslines him down flat on the rebound. Hercules wrapping the chain around his wrist for a de facto brass knuckle-ooooooh, hard blow to the face with the chain, and another! And now he's got the chain around his neck, and he's choking him out with it...!"

"You know, Gorilla, with the paint scheme Smash chose for his face, you can't tell if he's bleeding or not."

"Let's certainly hope he's not bleeding; we'd hate for anything to start out bad in this one. Here comes Ax in with an axhandle from behind to break up Herc's assault on his partner. That chain finally out of the ring, but Hercules still with the edge in this one with a series of hard chops to the back. Hercules sends Smash into the ropes sets up-no, Smash ducks under the clothesline, and flattens him on the rebound! Tag to Ax, and the two of them pound away on Herc together. They both send him into the ropes, and now a double boot to the face. The tide has shifted in this one, and Ax goes to drop the elbow...nope, nobody home. Tag to Knobbs, who absolutely punts him in the face; that might have been a sixty yard field goal there. Ax whipped hard into the corner, and now a big splash on him. Knobbs with a gutwrench suplex, and now a cover inside the ring: one, two...no. And Knobbs throws Ax clean out of the ring; Jimmy Hart applauding his man hard."

"As well he should; Knobbs clearly came prepared for this one."

"Knobbs sliding outside the ring; he's grabbing a beverage tray at ringside-and he smashes Ax over the back with it."

"Well, that probably did more good than we'd think, Gorilla; he almost certainly didn't have a bath in a good long while."

"Will you stop!? Knobbs now has the TV cable, and he's choking Ax out with it. But here comes Smash from behind, and he repays his partner's favor from earlier by slamming Knobbs in the back to break it up."

"Not much good, though; here comes Saggs off the apron, and he nails him with an axhandle of his own; both teams are going at it out there full blast now."

"Total warfare between Demolition and the Nasty Boys-and the former ram the latter together hard! And now Knobbs is flattened with a clothesline by Smash, and now the same with Saggs; Demolition is on a role with-look out, here comes Jimmy Hart with the Nasty Boys' motorcycle helmet from behind-bashes Ax and then Smash in the back on the head with it!"

"And in this match, that's perfectly legal."

"Jimmy Hart rolls Knobbs on top of Ax for the cover: one, two, three; that's the first fall."

The bell rang to signal the pin. "This fall awarded to the team including the Nasty Boys," Finkel announced from his seat next to the timekeepers' table, "Ax now has sixty seconds to get back into the ring."

"And Knobbs is sitting down on his back; he's going to try and hold him down; give me a break!" Monsoon complained.

"Again, Gorilla, completely in the rules for this match."

"The rest of Ax's teammates coming over to try and get him up; here comes their opponents, and now we have an even bigger all out brawl. Both teams going at it full tilt outside the ring; the clock is still ticking, but Ax is still lying there on the mat; we've got to be close to thirty seconds right now."

"Right there, Monsoon," Ventura remarked as Finkel gave the time cue, "If they'd forget about the other team and get Ax into the ring, maybe they could save themselves..."

"Ax starting to get up, no one seems to notice with the brawl going on. The outside referee's trying to retain order; the count is at ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five...Ax is back in. Main ring referee Jack Lutz shouts at everyone else to get back up into position. Ax heads towards his corner and makes a tag to Butch the moment everyone's in position..."

"And you know full well HE'S not going to play by any sense of the rules, Gorilla."

"Oh really!? Butch waving his arm over head to try and get the crowd into it; he charges full force across the ring and rams Knobbs in the chest the moment he's back in. Elbow to the face, and now a hip toss. Tag to Paul Roma, who rushes him, but misses with a right hook-and Butch picks him up and gives him an atomic drop for his trouble. Roma staggering around the ring; Butch with a tag to his cousin, and he and Luke form that battering ram of theirs; here they go-knocking Roma flat on his back. Roma struggling to get up; look at Animal, clapping to try and get the crowd behind his teammates, and indeed the capacity crowd here in the Silverdome doing just that."

"That's easy for him to do; he hasn't been in there yet."

"Bushwhackers with another battering ram-and this time they knock Roma clean out of the ring!"

"And of course we have to go through THIS," Ventura grumbled at the sight of the Bushwhackers doing their walkabout in celebration.

"They earned it, Jesse. Roma having enough; he tags the Barbarian outside the ring; being no disqualifications, that is legal for this match, although the Barbarian has to start from Roma's last position outside the ring. Luke, the legal man, slingshots himself over the top rope...!"

"He got caught," Ventura snickered as the Barbarian caught him in midair and gave him a brutal backbreaker. He then fell on Luke for the cover, but could only get a two count. "Barbarian now with the momentum, dragging Luke over to the timekeeper's table-oh no, rams his face off the bell...!"

"You could say that really rung his bell, huh Gorilla?"

"Will you stop!? Barbarian picking Luke up over his head-and drops him throat-first on the top of that steel barrier. Tag to the Warlord, who dives off the ropes with an axhandle to Luke's head. Both Powers of Pain cinch him up-and drive him backwards with a neckbreaker, and a beauty. Warlord with the cover: one, two...Butch launches himself out of the ring to save his cousin..."

"And the Powers of Pain ram the Bushwhackers' heads together; I love it," Ventura applauded, "Luke and Butch should go back to...what were they before they started wrestling again, sheepherders?"

"I do believe so, and darn good ones too. Warlord grabbing a steel chair; he takes aim at Luke and swings...and hits his partner by accident when Luke ducks! Luke rushing back towards his corner, and there's a tag to Hawk. Hawk storms over, nails the Warlord from behind-also a kick to the Barbarian's chest when he tries to intervene...and he throws the Warlord over the railing into the front row! Hawk tags Smash, and the two of them go over and start pinball punching the Warlord back and forth. Hawk waving for the people a few rows back to move out of the way; he and Smash lift the Warlord over their heads-and throw him like a javelin at least twenty feet, and the Warlord I think hit those chairs extra hard! Smash with the cover, as the outside referee runs into position: one, two, there's another fall."

"This fall awarded to the team including Demolition," Finkel declared, "The Warlord now has sixty seconds to get back into the ring."

"Here come the rest of the Warlord's teammates over the railing," Ventura pointed at them swarming towards where their partner had fallen, "They're not going to let it end like this."

"Very clearly-and they're lifting him up and carrying him back to the ring. There may be no disqualifications in this one, but that's a rather cowardly way to beat the count if you ask me."

"Well nobody asked you, Gorilla, and no one cares what you think," the Body cracked. Monsoon shot him a hard glare. "Warlord rolled back into the ring with plenty of time to spare; Smash, now the legal man for the other team, rushes him and starts whaling away on him; wow, those are some really hard punches there..."

"What do you expect, Gorilla; Demolition refuses to let go of their blood feud with the Powers of Pain even though Fuji ain't managing them anymore."

"Well the Powers of Pain were conspirators with Fuji in helping to sell Demolition out at the Survivor Series a while back, and that is something Ax and Smash have made clear they can never forgive. A look at the Powers of Pain's current manager, Freddie Blassie, as he yells at the Warlord to get with the program, but that not forthcoming at the moment, as Smash drags him over to his corner and smashes his foe's head into Ax's boot. Irish whip into the ropes, and the Warlord gets a boot courtesy of Smash that sends him down. Smash with the cover: one, two...diving save by the Barbarian. Smash grabs both Powers of Pain and pounds their heads together; listen to this ovation!"

"Yeah, this crowd sure is unbiased," the Body grumbled sarcastically.

"Tag to Animal; the Warlord tries to bail out, but Animal picks him up, and here comes a big slam. Animal drops the elbow into the chest hard, goes off the ropes...and Roma kicks him in the back to send him tumbling to the mat...!"

"No DQs, Gorilla, remember?"

"I know, I know. Warlord tags in Saggs; Saggs kicks Animal in the chest, and now goes up to the rope; here he comes...nobody home! Animal back to his feet, nails him with a big roundhouse right, throws him hard into the corner-and Saggs goes up and over the top and out! Animal now going up to the top; he's coming down...now. Animal with the cover on the mats: one, two-Hercules dives off the apron to break it up-and Animal picks him up and slams him! Wait a minute, Saggs going into his tights...it looks like he's got a can of mace there. Animal turns away from Herc-and Saggs maces him right in the eyes!"

"All completely legal..."

"I'm well aware of that, Jesse! Animal howling; I think he's blinded. And here comes Knobbs down, and the Nasty Boys are doubling teaming him. Animal being pounded into submission; his teammates coming over..."

"Animal's got to make the tag in full view of the outside referee, or it won't count."

"Animal's teammates calling to him with their arms extended; Animal reaching for them-and the Nasties throw him into the side of the ring. Knobbs with the elbow coming...no, Animal ducks under it, rushes towards his team, and tags Ax! Ax with a hard right cross to Knobbs..."

"He can't hit him, Gorilla; Saggs is the legal man."

"Well, no disqualifications, remember?" Monsoon raised an eybrow at him, "Ax picks Saggs up and slams him down hard. A cover: one, two...nope. And look out, here comes the Brain from behind, and he headbutts Ax with that knight's helmet of his; give me a break!"

"Good thinking there by the Brain; that's why he's one of the best managers in wrestling today. In fact, Power and Glory's team has all of the best managers in the sport today, and that's why I know they'll win this one."

"Speaking of good managing, it appears Paul Ellering came prepared for a macing by the Nasty Boys' team, as he now has out some eyewash and is administering it to Animal. In the meantime, the Nasty Boys ram Ax into the ringpost, and now do the same against the ring barriers. Saggs tags to Roma, who gives Ax a kick-no, Ax blocks it-and then fells him with a spinning kick of his own! Tag to Luke, who pumps his fist excitedly again, grabs Roma, and gives him a snap suplex; so far, Jesse, it's clear to me Romeo is the weak link in his team."

"Well the Brain wouldn't have picked him up to help form Power and Glory if he wasn't convinced he was the real deal."

"Luke and Roma trading blows as they inch towards the aisle heading back to the locker room area, and are now heading down the aisle, their teammates prancing all around them. Roma tries to grab one of the Legion of Doom's team's motorcycles-I think he intends to bash Luke over the head with it-but it's too heavy...and Luke nails him with the axhandle to the head. And now he and Butch have the battering ram set up again...and they ram Roma into the railing. Luke with the cover: one, two...Hercules breaks it up. Each man tags his partner, and now it's Herc against Butch-and they're still going at it tooth and nail. They're just about back to the curtain now; as we said, falls count anywhere in the building, including outside the arena proper; our cameras will stay with the wrestlers when they leave the arena area, as they are now..."

"And Herc's got the upper hand; he rams Butch into the wall; I love it," Ventura rubbed his hands eagerly, "They're both brawlers, but Hercules has a brain, and Butch doesn't."

"Will you get serious!? Hercules taking hold of Butch by the shirt, and throws him hard through that set of double doors there. And now he picks him up and throws him through the doors after those. He tags the Barbarian, who picks him up and slams him hard on the concrete, and there's another cover: one, two, three; let's see if he can make it back to the ring in time."

"This fall awarded to the team including the Powers of Pain," came the announcement from back in the arena, "Butch now has sixty seconds to get back into the ring."

"Butch trying to stumble to his feet; he looks a little worried, and they did take the fight pretty far away from the ring," Monsoon noted on his monitor.

"He'd better be scared, Gorilla; there's no way the Powers of Pain's team's going to let him back in without a fight," Ventura predicted confidently.

"Butch slips, but it looks like he's almost up; it's about forty-five seconds to go now, and the Powers of Pain and their allies forming a wall, trying to keep Butch from getting back. Hercules rushes Butch when he comes forward, trying to hold him back-but the rest of Butch's teammates rush them, and here we go again with another melee. And Butch slips through..."

"Thirty seconds," came the warning announcement. Butch stumbled back through the doors, running as fast as he could back towards the ring. "He's not going to make it," Ventura shook his head confidently.

"He just might; there's still enough time. He's about to enter the arena again now..."

"Fifteen seconds," came the advisory as Butch charged full tilt back into the arena, his arms flailing wildly, "Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two..."

"Butch diving under the ropes at the last possible second; this match will continue," Monsoon smiled as Butch barely beat the count back in, "The rest of the participants in this match making their way back to ringside as well-and they're still going at it tooth and nail..."

"Well, so we remember, Barbarian is the legal man once they get back to the ring."

"Barbarian indeed climbing back in and going after Butch...and Butch slides under his legs and makes a quick tag to Hawk. Hawk gives him a running clothesline, look at this, carries him up to the top rope, and whoa, a flying piledriver rams the Barbarian into the mats!"

"He's lucky the Barbarian's getting right back up; if he'd broken his neck with that move..."

"Which is perfectly legal..."

"Cut that out, Gorilla; I hate it when you use my own words against me!"

"As do you, Jesse. Hawk with a hard chop that sends the Barbarian over the railing into the crowd; Hawk over after him; Barbarian stumbling to his feet and running for it like a coward. Hawk gives pursuit with everyone else right behind them; he catches up with the Barbarian in the aisle, and another scoop slam...but here comes Blassie with his cane, and he nails him in the back of the head with it; come on!"

"Just looking out for his man, Gorilla."

"And here comes Paul Ellering from behind, and he takes the Classy One down! Both managers whaling away at each other on the arena floor; meanwhile, the Brain and the Mouth continuing to give verbal support to their team; Barbarian tags Roma, who shoves a guy out of his folding chair nearby, picks it up, and swings-no, Hawk out of the way and tags Smash. Smash rams Romeo in the chest; they're heading up the steps to the second level here at the Silverdome now. Smash with a diving tackle that takes Roma down on the steps, and now a diving punch, and the cover; referee slightly out of position though, and only a two. Smash tags his partner, he and Ax set Roma up..."

"For nothing; Hercules nails them both from the side," Ventura laughed.

"Roma breaks away; he's heading for the exit to the concourse; although falls do count anywhere in the building, your team will be declared the loser if you at any point leave the building. Ax giving pursuit as all the participants rush through the tunnel onto the concourse-and Roma grabs a rather attractive woman walking nearby and pulls her in front of him as a shield; give me a break! If that isn't cowardice, I don't know what is!"

"It's also intelligent, Gorilla, for your information."

"Ax hanging back; he's not going to attack an innocent woman-and here comes Herc with the chain wrapped around his wrist again, and he nails Ax with that! Bystanders on the concourse gathering around to watch the action up close now; Roma tags the Warlord, who gives Ax a backbreaker-no he doesn't, Smash jumps on top of him and rides him like a wild bronco. Ax up to his feet, kicks his hated rival in the chest, and now kicks the legs out from under him. Smash lands on top of the Warlord, and we have a cover: one, two...Barbarian breaks it up-but both members of Demolition scoop both members of the Powers of Pain up and slam them! Ax tags Luke, who goes airborne...and the Warlord out of the way in time. Warlord hauls Luke up, throws him roughly through the door of a concession stand here-the cashiers bail out in a hurry. Warlord in fact picks up a cash register and bashes Luke over the head with it...!"

"Don't worry, kids; since Luke has an empty skull, he didn't feel a thing," Ventura smugly comforted the home viewers.

"Will you stop!? And look at this: Warlord trying to press Luke's face into the hot dog grill! Luke straining for all it's worth, but it appears the Warlord's a little too strong...wait a minute, Luke grabs hold of a Diet Coke dispenser, and yes, he sprays the Warlord in the face with the Real Thing...!"

"Same old petty Bushwhacker tactics...and NOW look what he's doing; Luke shoving a soft pretzel down the Warlord's throat to add insult to injury! This is why I hate the Marching Morons!"

"Luke grabbing a ketchup bottle off the counter and squirts the Warlord in the face with that as well! Luke reaches over and tags Animal, who apparently can now see well enough; Animal grabs the Warlord around the waist and suplexes him over the counter back to the concourse floor. Some hard punches to the face; both men have lost a lot of their facepaint by now. Warlord with a rake of the eyes to stop the assault, and a tag to Knobbs. Knobbs grabs the helmet off the circling Jimmy Hart and swings...no, Hawk grabs it in midair and yanks it out of Knobbs's hands! Hawk bashes him with it and hands it to Animal, who belts Knobbs with it again...!"

"Yeah, these guys are real upstanding wrestlers...!"

"Barbarian coming up from behind with a steel garbage can...misses Animal and nails Knobbs instead! Knobbs with a dazed tag to his partner; Saggs swings a punch at Animal, the two of them going at it hard, heading towards one of the restrooms...Animal throws Saggs through the restroom door. Rushes him...Saggs with a hard kick to the chest and a tag to Hercules as everyone swarms in...and look at this, Hawk grabs Herc from behind and pulls him out of the bathroom-everyone on the Legion Doom's team follows-and Animal slams the door shut and locks the rest of their opponents in!"

"This is terrible; you cannot stop the other team from participating!" the Body complained.

"No DQs, Jesse," his partner winked at him, "Demolition and the Bushwhackers pushing up several tables and a soda machine to block the bathroom door...and Animal tags Hawk, who climbs up on another table in front of him as Herc's hoisted on Animal's shoulders-and Ax dragging still another table into place behind Animal! This could be a very painful Doomsday Device coming Hercules's way...AND HOW; HERCULES SMASHED DOWN OFF ANIMAL'S SHOULDERS RIGHT THROUGH THE TABLE!" Monsoon roared in excitement while the Silverdome erupted in a carnal cheer behind him, "Hawk with the cover: one, two, three; start the clock."

"This fall award to the team including the Legion of Doom," came the prerequisite announcement, "Hercules now has sixty seconds to get back into the ring."

"Hard task there given how far away they got from the ring this time," Monsoon remarked with a grin, "Hercules appears to be out cold after having gone through the table; his teammates pounding hard on the bathroom door, but it appears they're locked in good and tight. Legion of Doom and their teammates casually walking away; they did their job well, and it looks like a good reward's coming their way."

"Open the bathroom door, somebody; it can't end like this!" Ventura shouted for anyone who cared to listen.

"Thirty seconds," came Finkel's reminder to the arena, which was enveloped in cheers with the picture of the pinned and out cold Hercules on the overhead monitors, "Fifteen seconds...ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one..."

The bell rang loudly, sending the cheers even louder. "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHH, WHAT A RUSH!" Hawk's roar echoed through the building again, followed by the Legion of Doom's theme at full blast. "Tremendous victory for the Legion of Doom, Demolition, and the Bushwhackers in this one-and there we see them coming back into the arena; listen to this ovation!" Monsoon declared.

"All I have to say is, it was a tainted victory, Gorilla," Ventura grumbled, "They had to get rid of the rest of Power and Glory's team to beat them."

"Again, anything went in this one. A very happy looking Paul Ellering waiting by his men on the arena floor; high fives to the Legion of Doom-and look at that, Ellering dong the Bushwhacker Bounce in celebration!" Monsoon laughed at the sight; indeed, all of the Bushwhackers' teammates started up the Bounce with Luke and Butch as well.

"I find this appalling, Gorilla. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got important business to take care of," Ventura unexpectedly tossed down his headset and left the broadcast position. "Wait, what're...where...?" Monsoon frowned after his partner, who did not turn back. He shrugged and turned back to his monitor. "Gene Okerlund is standing by at ringside to get some words from the winners in this bout."

Okerlund was grinning as the winners approached. "All right, great work, gentlemen; a very impressive victory on your part," he commended them, "Paul Ellering, it appears you put together a terrific combination in this one."

"This was just the beginning," Ellering declared firmly, "Rockers, you are hereby on alert," he glared straight into the camera, "I congratulate you on your win earlier this evening, but the pursuit begins, and these gentlemen," he gestured at his team, "Are going to be coming after the belts."

"You tell him Paul. But for now, Power and Glory, Powers of Pain, and Nasty Boys, you messed with the wrong people!" Animal added firmly into the camera, "And we all showed you that you don't mess with us and get away with it, right Hawk?"

"WEEEEEELLLLL, you said it pal!" Hawk said proudly, pumping his fist excitedly in the air, "And now the march back to the top begins. We're coming for you, Rockers, and soon you're going to hear that sound, 'OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHH, WHAT A RUSH!"

He and Animal exchanged a high five with the Bushwhackers (who then rubbed Okerlund's head in celebration) and Demolition. The seven of them trudged back to their motorcycles and drove in a victory lap around the ring. Okerlund climbed into the ring once the winning team had zoomed back to the locker room and the Legion of Doom's theme had finally faded away. "Ladies and gentlemen, at this time I have a special announcement to make," he told the crowd, "I just dropped by the ticket office to check the official attendance here this evening. It is my distinct pleasure to tell you, all of you, that you have helped to not just set but shatter a milestone; all of you have set a new world indoor attendance record of 108,714 paid attendees! Congratulations, one and all!"

The Silverdome absolutely exploded. "How about that?" Stu applauded with a big grin in the front row, "We even surpassed Tunney's expectations. That makes tonight even more special."

"Well, for the most part," Larry still looked a little down his son had lost the Intercontinental belt.

"Most part nothing, buster; tonight's going down completely in wrestling history, and I'm damn proud my Raymond was a part of it," Edna told him firmly, thrusting the giant inflatable copy of her son's nightstick she'd brought high.

"Well, just Adonis and Piper left before the main event," Wayne consulted his program, "After half the matches we've been through, I don't see how this or the world title match can possible top everything so far..."

"Well, we'll see what comes up; here comes Adonis now, in fact," Keith pointed to the spotlight illuminating the cart coming up the Silverdome aisle now. "The following contest is scheduled for one fall. Coming down the aisle with his manager, the Mouth of the South Jimmy Hart, from New York City, weighing 402 pounds, here is the 'Adorable' Adrian Adonis!" came Finkel's declaration, followed up by strong booing for the much more fatter and feminine-looking Adonis and his manager. "I don't get this whole drag queen thing he's got going these days," the third oldest Hart son turned to his siblings, who mostly nodded in agreement, "He was just fine as the big, bad biker; why do this?"

"Does it really matter, bro; he's still the same lean, mean wrecking machine he was before, and I think he's going to pound the Dog, if you get my drift," Dean countered.

"Oh very funny," Georgia rolled her eyes in disgust, "But yeah, Keith's right, he was fine before; I don't get this new look for him at all-or why he put on so much poundage too."

"Word is, his girlfriend Trudy asked him to do it for her," Smith suggested, "Reliable sources say it's an effort to make her see he's truly attracted to her."

"And would those reliable sources be the people you and Dean get your gambling tips from?" Ellie raised an eyebrow at him, "Either way, if so, that's a stupid reason to become a drag queen-but clearly Adonis isn't the brightest tool in the shed..."

"Not that the Dog is much smarter, Ellie, for your information," the oldest Hart child shot back.

"Well, maybe you'd like to tell him, smart boy; here he comes now," she pointed to the second cart zipping up the aisle, this one to cheering and the announcement, "His opponent, from Charlotte, North Carolina, weighing 280 pounds, the Junkyard Dog!" The Dog immediately hit the ring running and went straight for Adonis. "Quick start here by the Junkyard Dog in this the final preliminary match of the card tonight," Monsoon remarked, glancing around the still otherwise empty broadcast area, "Adonis bailing out of the ring..."

"Hello, do you know me?" Heenan, now without the knight's helmet, but still wearing the bulletproof vest, slid into what had been Ventura's chair next to him. "Oh, don't mind me," he told the frowning Monsoon, slipping Ventura's headset on, "Jesse asked me to cover for him. Come on, Adrian, take it to him!"

"Interesting attire you've got there, Brain," Monsoon frowned at Heenan's bulletproof vest, "I guess you think you'll be safe on live TV if somebody very important's upset over your man Mr. Perfect blowing the Intercontinental match..."

"I don't know what you're talking about-give it to him, give it to him!" Heenan cheered on Adonis as he delivered a series of sharp blows to the Dog.

"I know what's been going on, Brain; I know the people you work with," Monsoon told him with raised eyebrows, "Care for me to divulge that to the viewing public?"

"Headbutt by the Dog-and another by Adonis...they're headbutting each other in the middle of the ring!" Heenan tried to block him out.

"Push any wrong buttons with me while you're here, Brain, and I'll spill everything," Monsoon warned him, "JYD picking Adonis up and gives him a big slam. JYD into the ropes...and Jimmy Hart grabs the leg and trips him! Adonis goes for the cover-and look at this, he's holding the ropes; look up, ref!"

But the referee did not, and gave Adonis the three count and the win. "Good work, Adrian!" Heenan pumped his fist excitedly, "That might be a record!"

"Close, but not quite a record, I don't think. Adonis and Jimmy Hart leaving the ringside area rather quickly," he frowned, "almost like they've got something on their minds. Let's take a look at the replay here: JYD going into the ropes, and right there, the Mouth reaching in and tripping him, and from there, Adonis holding the ropes for the cheap win. And now, it's just about time for the moment we've all been waiting for: the world championship on the line in the main event. Let's go back to Bruno Sammartino, who is with world champion Ric Flair and his entourage..."

* * *

Backstage, Sammartino couldn't suppress a glare at Flair before him, the world championship belt draped over his shoulder. "OK, Ric Flair..." he began.

"That's KING Flair, Sammartino, get it right!" Sherri corrected him firmly.

"Oh, so sorry," Sammartino told her roughly with a frown, "KING Flair, the day of reckoning is here; after all the questioning over whether you won the world title fairly, now you finally have to put it on the line against a worthy opponent in the Macho Man. Do you feel any concern about whether you're going to lose it right after...?"

"Can it, Bruno," Blassie shot back at him, "If you're going to use leading questions with the greatest wrestler of this or any generation, excluding yours truly, of course, then we're not going to want to talk to you; show the King some respect. Tell it like it is, Ric," he told his charge.

"The time is now," Flair declared grandly, "Wrestlemania night, in front of the largest crowd in indoor history, all here to see me, the greatest wrestler of this generation, walk out there with this," he held up the world title up into the camera, "the greatest sporting trophy in the entire realm of sports. They've all said all I can do is just talk the talk; well baby, the Nature King can certainly walk the walk too. Tonight, with the Sensational Queen and the Classy Prime Minister in my corner," he put an arm around Sherri and Blassie, "I will show the hundred thousand people in this building, and the millions watching around the world that the Nature King is very much enthroned, and will stay enthroned for a long, long time to come, in what will become a grand new era for wrestling. And Macho Man, if you think you can stand toe to toe with the king, well, I can only say, you're in for the worst, beating of your life, and after I finish dishing it out to retain the title, look up to the big screens. We just might have a surprise for you you'll never believe, WOOOOOO!"

"Surprise, what surprise?" Sammartino frowned at him, "Care to share that with us?"

"It wouldn't be a surprise if we do, Bruno you pencil-neck geek," Blassie upbraided him, "And while you're here, just think; if you'd just let me win the title just once back in the 60s, I wouldn't have needed to go into managing to win it. So everything that happened to Hogan, Bruno, you were partially responsible for."

"Now wait just a minute here, Blassie...!"

"This is MY title," Blassie took hold of the world championship belt and held it up to the camera, stroking it lovingly, "I spent thirty years earning it, and I'm sure as hell not giving it up as long as there's a drop of blood in my body. So, Macho Moron, it's going to be total war in that ring, and you can have my title when you pry it from Ric's and my cold, dead fingers. And once the Nature King, Sensational Queen, and I destroy Macho Madness just like we destroyed Hulkamania, then, Liz you dog," he glared menacingly into the camera, "It's open season, and we're going to teach you a lesson about trying to steal Martel's and my managing thunder that you're never going to forget...if you live to tell about it."

"Come on now, you can't say that...!" Sammartino was outraged at the implication.

"Tough, Bruno. Come on, King, it's time for your moment of glory!" Blassie waved his cane grandly.

"WOOOOOO!" Flair gave a parting yell as he and Sherri followed Blassie away. Sammartino shook his head in disgust. "Let's go to Gene Okerlund with news on the Macho Man," he muttered into his microphone.

In front of the locker room, Okerlund turned firmly towards the camera. Thank you, Bruno. At this time, Randy Savage is not granting any interviews to the press. Presumably, he is trying to focus intensely on the match ahead of him, taking stock of the fact he must defeat one of the greatest wrestlers in the world today to win the world title. Perhaps, we must wonder, he is thinking of everything that is riding on his shoulders, that with a win he will avenge his partner in the Mega Powers, Hulk Hogan, who was beaten badly enough by the entire Million Dollar Corporation so as to miss his own shot at the world title-and that he will also defend the honor of his bride, the lovely Elizabeth, who has taken at numerous turns flack from the Nature King, the Sensational Queen, and the Classy Prime Minister. Can he pull it off? We will know for sure in short time. Back to you, Gorilla-and I guess Bobby Heenan as well-for the call."

"All right, thank you, Bruno and Gene. Listen to this crowd, they're all on their feet; they're ready for the main event," Monsoon scanned the record-breaking crowd, "Of course, there is still one thing unsettled yet with the whole affair; scheduled referee Joey Marella is of course hospitalized," his expression dropped, "No word yet on who his replacement is going to be for the big one in a few moments..."

"Not to worry, Monsoon, I think they're just making the decision now," Heenan pointed towards the ring, where Finkel was having a discussion with several WWF officials.

"Now how would you know that, Brain? Did you set something up here?" Monsoon frowned deeply at him.

"Oh, maybe, maybe not. Let's hear what the story is," Heenan leaned forward in his seat as Finkel approached the center of the ring. "Ladies and gentlemen, at this time, I have a special announcement to make," he told the record crowd, "Referee Joey Marella, who was slated to referee the subsequent main event match for the World Wrestling Federation world heavyweight title, was hospitalized last night. In a phone conversation with high-ranking World Wrestling Federation officials this morning, he specifically named a replacement referee for this match. After much searching through the World Wrestling Federation rulebook, this replacement has been deemed allowable and has been approved. And so, ladies and gentlemen, it is my distinct pleasure at this time to introduce the special guest referee for the world championship match...Jesse 'the Body' Ventura!"

"WHAT!?" Monsoon jerked up in his seat and stared in shock at his usual pay-per-view broadcast partner strutting confidently down the aisle towards the ring, "This can't be right! Since when does Jesse have any refereeing experience!?"

"Well, he got picked, Monsoon, so, tough," Heenan grinned softly.

"I'm going to get the whole story here," grabbing a spare microphone, Monsoon bustled down from the broadcast position, intercepting Ventura just as he reached the ringside area. "Jesse, what's going on here!?" he demanded, "You're not a referee...!"

"Oh yes I am, Gorilla," Ventura smugly unzipped and removed his jacket to reveal a striped referee shirt underneath, "And, read it and weep," he thrust a paper in Monsoon's face, "I am officially registered to referee in the state of Michigan-and, Joey Marella agreed to let me do the match for him."

"I'll bet anything you coerced him into it!" Monsoon bellowed, "And what's in this for you!? You wouldn't be doing this if you weren't profiting from it somehow!"

"Oh, let's just say I am profiting already," Ventura turned with a grin towards the luxury suites, then took off his sunglasses and handed them and his jacket to Monsoon. "Here, Gorilla," he handed him a five dollar bill, "There'll be more if you take good care of them."

He started to climb into the ring. Monsoon tossed the jacket and sunglasses to the ground in disgust. "You tricked your way into this, Jesse, I just know it!" he shouted at him, "You're in this for a lot more than you're letting on, because I know full well you can't call a fair match when you've been Flair's biggest supporter here in the WWF...!"

"Well, there ain't too much you can do about that, is there, Gorilla!?" the Body shot back smugly at him, "Finally, after all this time of you, McMahon, and everyone else putting me down, _I'm_ in the position of power, and _I_ decide who wins this match, and there's not a damn thing you or anyone else can do to stop it. And once this match is over, I'm going to be in even more power, so you'd better be nice to me from now on. OK, Howard," he instructed the ring announcer, "I want the wrestler intros done the right way here...!"

* * *

"Unbelievable, just unbelievable!" Savage roared backstage in frustration, staring at the image of referee Ventura on the locker room TV, "Of all the people they could've chosen...!"

"Well, we'll just have to beat Flair before Jesse can resort to anything," Elizabeth rationalized next to him, although she too looked stunned at the sudden turn of events. She turned to look hesitantly at the rest of the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection by the locker room door. "You guys sure you want to go through with this? If Don Vincenelli's men are armed..."

"As long as they have Mr. Tunney's wife and daughters, they have the leverage on the world title match," Bret said with a worried expression of his own, "We'll get them out of there, somehow. You and Randy just win the match fairly so they can't file any complaints."

"And don't worry about us, we have a plan," Piper said, looking more confident than the others.

"All right, let's do it then," the Boss Man declared, hefting his nightstick again. He led the others out of the locker room. Savage took a deep, nervous breath. "Well, I guess it's time," he told his wife, taking her hand softly, "It's all riding on us. I didn't want this pressure going into the match..."

"Me neither," she looked just as worried, "Still no matter what happens, we'll be living the dream. I can still remember," her expression grew nostalgic. "I was six; we were at the county fair. They had a series of matches in one of the sideshow tents. My brother was more interested in it at first, but as each match progressed, I just got more and more hooked. Wrestling seemed like more than a sport; it was like an art form, a symphony. And when the little guy-I can't remember the names anymore-managed to slip out of the big guy's hold and pin him that night, I believed more than ever in my life that anything was possible. And it's true; here I am, a small town girl from Kentucky, on the brink of winning the championship of the world."

"I'll do everything I can to get it for you; nobody deserves it more than you. But, Elizabeth, I just want to say," he slipped an arm around her and stared straight into her eyes, "Given the choice, I'd rather have you for the rest of my life and all eternity than the world title. After I blew up last month, I saw I'd put too much into winning the belt. You're more valuable than that could ever be. Again, I'm sorry I lost control; I should have never doubted your word on the whole thing. This is my way of making it up, trying to get you the gold..."

"It's OK, Randy; it's all behind us now," she told him, leaning her head into his chest. Savage hugged her close and planted a kiss on the top of her head. "OK," he said firmly after a minute, wrapping his robe more tightly around himself with a determined expression, "Let's roll..."


	12. Chapter 12

"What do you see, Boss Man?" Andre asked the former prison guard as he stared through a set of binoculars at the luxury suite Tunney had directed them to from the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection's position at the bottom of the southwest upper deck.

"Looks like about two dozen of them in there," the Boss Man mused grimly, "About five of them holding Tunney's wife and daughters at gunpoint, another four pointing guns out the window, probably waiting for Randy to come into range for a good shot..."

"Then we probably don't have much time; we've got to get the Tunneys out and disarm them," Bret mumbled worriedly.

"Well, I hope you guys have a good idea," Virgil leaned over his shoulder with a frown, "From personal experience, I can assure you the Vincenelli Family always goes heavily armed; you're insane if you just want to charge in there."

"Not to worry, Virgil; I have an idea," Piper was grinning, "A very, very, good idea..."

* * *

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, it is time for the main event of Wrestlemania!" Finkel declared grandly to a thundering ovation, "It is for the World Wrestling Federation world heavyweight championship, and is scheduled for one fall. At this time, I would like to introduce several important celebrity guests..."

"Yeah, yeah, blah, blah, blah, Howard, keep wasting our time with all this celebrity crap," Blassie grumbled bitterly from his position on one of the carts backstage with Flair and Sherri, waiting for the cue to enter the arena. "Well, since we have time, you two all ready?" he asked them.

"Ready as we'll ever be for our time on the greatest stage of them all, WOOOOOO!" Flair declared, thrusting his royal scepter high, "Macho Madness, and with it Tunney's hold on the WWF, dies tonight, and perhaps the Macho Man too after I finish giving him the worst beating of his life!"

"And after that," Sherri cracked her knuckles coldly, "Loony Liz is all mine. I've waited so long to put her in her place, and now she's going to learn why she should never have tried to outshine me as a manager."

"Save some for me, Martel; I want to teach her that too," Blassie reminded her, "Let's see now; I'm all set," he mused, tapping his full pockets, "Secret Weapon Number One is already in the ring," he squinted down the tunnel towards the ring, where the dot that was Ventura was pacing impatiently while Finkel introduced the celebrity timekeeper for the match (Blassie was too far away to hear clearly, and he could have cared less either way), "Secret Weapon Number Two should be in position now..." he opened his tuxedo enough to reveal a radio underneath. "All set to go, Jimmy?" he asked into it.

Up in the control room, the Mouth of the South opened his own tuxedo and raised another radio to his lips. "You bet we are, Freddie; the staff had some questions about us coming in here, but it's all taken care of now," he turned to stare at the bound and gagged control room crew being watched over by the frowning Adonis, "If Savage starts to get the upper hand, and you give the go-ahead, we'll flash Ric's pictures humiliating Liz on the big screen for everybody to see. We can't lose, baby!"

"I hope not, Jimmy. Just stay alert. Over and out," Blassie signed off just as the cart started moving up the tunnel. "Here we go, my moment of glory...well, OUR moment," he apologized to the King and Queen, who glared at him. The cart came through the curtains into the Silverdome at the exact moment the spotlight was shone on it, and "Thus Spake Flairathustra" rumbled to life over the sound system-accompanied by a colossal avalanche of boos, itself supplemented by a barrage of debris being flung at the cart. "Introducing first," Finkel began the final set of introductory speeches, "Coming down the aisle towards the ring, accompanied by his manager, the Classy Prime Minister, Fred Blassie, and by Sensational Queen Sherri, from Charlotte, North Carolina, weighing 242 pounds, here is the undisputed World Wrestling Federation champion, the Nature King, Ric Flair!"

"Give me that; you call that an intro?" Ventura snatched the microphone off him, "Let me show them how to do it the right way! Everybody," he barked at the capacity crowd, ignoring the boos, "Stand up, and show the utmost respect to the man who is approaching the ring now, the sixteen time world champion, and now WWF champion, the greatest wrestler of this generation, apart from yours truly-shut up!" he bellowed as the crowd heaped boos down all over him, "I give you his royal majesty, the Nature King, Ric Flair! All hail the king! All hail the king!"

"All hail the king, WOOOOOOO!" Blassie shouted along with Flair's latest yell, thrusting his cane high in the air. Once the cart reached the ring, he skipped merrily towards the ring and held the ropes open for Flair and Sherri-but hardly anyone noticed him tap his foot on the ring floor three times. Nor did anyone hear the three taps that came back but Blassie himself, who nodded when he heard them. "We're all ready," he whispered to Sherri, climbing into the ring and helping her out of her royal tiara and fur robe, revealing she was wearing a black ladies' wrestling singlet underneath, "You just watch Ric's back and get ready to jump in if needed."

"I know what to do, Freddie," she grumbled, taking Flair's royal scepter in hand, and then also taking his crown and royal robe, which she handed to Blassie to place in their corner. "You just make sure I get what I want out of this-more recognition and my own stable."

"Whatever, Martel, whatever," Blassie essentially blew her off, handing her Flair's robe after the champion finished spinning around in a circle with the arm flaps hanging grandly down. The Classy Prime Minister then took the WWF world championship belt off his man, kissed it, and thrust it high. "I'm not letting you go, baby, not after I waited this long to get you again," he told the belt, only reluctantly heading over to hand it off to the timekeeper, "Macho can have you when he pries you from my cold, dead fingers-unless he goes first, of course..."

Backstage, on his own cart, Savage took another deep breath. "Ready?" he asked Elizabeth one last time.

"Ready as I'll ever be," she looked nervous herself, but forced a strong expression, taking hold of his hand, "Let's do it."

"OOOOOOOOh yeah. Take us out, James," Savage asked the cart operator, who nodded and pulled the lever to send them out into the Silverdome. An almost carnal cheer rose up the moment "Pomp and Circumstance" displaced Flair's theme in the building. "His opponent, and challenger," came the final introduction of the night, "To be accompanied by the First Lady of Wrestling, Elizabeth, from Sarasota, Florida, weighing 239 pounds, Randy 'Macho Man' Savage!"

"Cut the crap!" Sherri grabbed the microphone off him this time, "I'M the real First Lady of Wrestling, and I'll prove it tonight in front of all of you! You hear me, Liz, you liar?" she barked at the approaching cart, "I'll prove I'm better than you once and for all right now!"

Elizabeth paid no heed to the threat, staring straight ahead with a worried by also determined expression. "Hey, there's your father again," she noticed Angelo standing up right next to the aisle as the cart coasted to a stop, "Wonder if he has any last minute advice for you...?"

"If he even wants to say anything; I mean, the way I left ICW..." Savage, oblivious to his father's aid earlier in the evening, mumbled in shame.

"Randy," Angelo, however, was smiling broadly, holding his arms out, "Randy, don't worry; it's all water under the bridge. And I couldn't be prouder of you than I am right now."

He held his arms out. Savage, after a brief pause, smiled himself and gave his father a hug. "I've missed you so much, Dad..." he mumbled softly.

"I missed you too, son; I see you've been well taken care of, though," Angelo gave Elizabeth a warm smile and gestured for her to accept a hug from him as well, "You've found the right lady here, Randy; I can see she'd do anything for you, and you for her."

"Well, Randy and I changed each other's lives, it's a simple as that, Mr. Poffo," she said, touched, "Any last advice for us?"

"Just to go get that title off that hooligan," he pointed at Flair, pacing impatiently in the ring, "My boy deserves it a lot more than he does."

"We'll do what we can. Hello again," she smiled at the Harts, who clapped in support for she and Savage, "Bret had said you'd all be here-including my biggest fan," she bent down to an eager Jade's level with an even bigger smile, "You think we can do it?"

"With you in his corner, Miss Elizabeth, of course," the girl nodded eagerly.

"Come on, this is a wrestling match, not a Sunday picnic, you stupid broad!" Blassie shouted impatiently at her and Savage from the apron, "Are we going to have a match or not!"

"Watch the tongue, Blassie; you don't call the best manager in wrestling stupid, unless you want a Macho Madness hangover rammed right down your throat right now, oooooooooohh yeeeeeeaaahh!" Savage leaped up onto the apron and thrust a finger in Blassie's face.

"Well, that so-called great manager's now in play, Macho, as we agreed, so watch out, we're coming for you AND her," Blassie warned him back, jabbing him in the chest with his cane.

"And afterwards, she's still got one last shot at Space Mountain, WOOOOO!" Flair leaned around his manager.

"I'll show you Space Mountain...!" Savage barrelled into the ring, shoved Blassie aside, and charged straight at Flair as the bell rang for the main event. "Here we go, for all the marbles; you can just feel the electricity as this one gets underway!" Monsoon leaned forward in his seat in anticipation, "And Macho Man chasing Flair out of the ring right off the bat-he's chasing him halfway down the aisle..."

"Go ahead, Ric, take the countout, it won't hurt a bit," Heenan urged the Nature King on next to him. Monsoon rolled his eyes in disgust. "Look out, Savage catches him and flattens him with a hard right, and the King is down! Savage pummelling him hard; he wants that title, and he wants it bad...but look out, here comes Blassie from behind, and there's a cane shot to the back of the head! Blassie hooks the cane around Macho's throat; he's choking him out with it as he drags him back towards the ring! He's taking him towards Sherri; she's got a steel chair in hand. Blassie waving for her to hold it up-and he throws Savage face-first into the chair! And now Sherri bashing him with it while Jesse 'the Body' just sits against the ringpost watching; give me a break!"

"Well, he's not in the ring, so no need to call anything," Heenan suggested.

"He should be counting Flair, who's not even back to the ring yet!"

"But he was chased out by Macho; that wouldn't be very fair to Flair to start off the match."

"Don't start with that fair to Flair nonsense! Blassie and the Queen roll the Macho Man back into the ring; Blassie pointing to Elizabeth rather coldly; looks like he's saying, 'From here on its total war.' Well, the Macho Man can fight total war too."

"So did Noriega, and we all know how that turned out."

"Flair with a series of hard chops to the face; Macho Man still in his ring gear," Monsoon ignored the Brain, "Whip into the ropes-Savage ducks under the clothesline-but Flair gets him the second time-and he's going for the cover: one, two...Macho survives, but Jesse was counting fast!"

"No he wasn't. Maybe you should see an optomatrist, Monsoon."

"My sight's just fine, Brain! Hard toss into the corner, here comes Flair...and Savage out of the way in time. Elbow to the face, and the champion sent into the far corner. Savage up on top and punching away: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Savage takes Flair by the shoulders and whoa, dives backwards to the mat and has him down in a crucifix...and look at this, Jesse taking his grand old time to get over into position! The Body goes down to his knees as slowly as possible-and Flair kicks out before he can even start counting; come on! How did he get Joey Marella to agree to let him referee this match!"

"Oh come, Gorilla; you know what good friends the two of them are..."

"Brain, I know Joey Marella VERY well, and he is certainly no friend of Jesse Ventura. Macho Man looking frurstrated at the officiating so far, and I can't say I blame him; elbow to the face, and now he's going up to the top rope. Could we see the flying elbow now...yes we will. Another cover...and Jesse's counting in slow motion now! Give me a break; this is a travesty! Flair easily out at Jesse's count of one. Savage furious; looks like he's trading barbs with the Body over his counting; Jesse in turn warning him, it appears, that he'll be tossed if he mouths off to him during the match. Savage shaking his head in disgust, scoop slam of Flair, and finally getting out of his ring gear. Macho sends Flair into the ropes, big kick to the face sends him down again. Savage off the ropes himself...and Blassie reaches in and trips him; this is getting ridiculous!"

"Well Savage knew what he was getting into when he signed the contract for this match; he had to know that Flair and Blassie would do whatever it took to hold onto the world title."

"I'm sure he did, but to counter them, plus Sherri, and with a visibly biased referee; this is beyond unfair for the Macho Man. Flair runs over, goes airborne on him, landing hard on the chest. Blassie waving the cane wildly, telling his man to break him down as hard as he can; Flair responds by hurling Savage hard into the corner..."

"WOOOOOOO!" Flair shouted loudly to the entire Silverdome. He strutted confidently over to Savage and flung him just as hard into the opposite corner. "That's good, that's good, now break the back, Ric!" Blassie shouted to him. Flair obligingly picked Savage up and gave him a hard backbreaker. "Flair with another cover here...and another lightning fast count by Jesse that Savage just barely survives; you can't call that an unbiased count, Brain!" Monsoon challenged his current broadcast partner.

"OK, I won't then," Heenan shrugged. Monsoon groaned in frustration. "Elbow to the chest by Flair; a look of deep concern on Elizabeth's face outside the ring; so far Flair with the majority of the offense in this one..."

"And you know something, Monsoon, I think she still has feelings for the Nature King. In fact, I'm willing to bet she'll walk out of here with him when he wins-not if, when."

"Oh really? Flair sends Savage into the ropes-but the Macho Man downs him with a shoulder block! And then another on the rebound! Savage goes up and down hard on the chest; hooks the leg...and Jesse again taking his grand old time coming over, and Flair right back out of it. A look here at WWF President Jack Tunney, now back at his ringside seat, and from that very deep frown on his face, one does have to wonder how much longer he's going to tolerate the Body as the referee in this one."

"Oh sure, like there's anything he can do now that the match has started..."

"Oh there's plenty he can do, Brain. Savage sends Flair hard into the corner; look at the grimace on Flair's face. Slingshot into the ropes now, and another hard elbow sends Flair halfway over the top. Macho Man pulls him back in and starts pummeling him-here comes Jesse trying to break it up; Savage gently pushes him aside, though..."

"Ring the bell, Ventura; he can't get away with manhandling an official," Heenan challenged him.

"Savage moved him aside as gently as he could; that does not constitute manhandling, Brain. Savage rushes the champ...and look out, Flair throws him over his head and out of the ring! Here comes Blassie and Sherri; the former starts kicking him, and the latter belts him with the scepter; this is ridiculous!"

"Well, he used to be the Macho King; now Sherri's just crowning him again."

"Will you stop! Cold look on Sherri's face as Blassie rolls Savage back into the ring; she's pacing back and forth, scepter in one hand and that steel chair she used at the beginning of the match in the other. One can only imagine the psychological advantage of Flair having all those people at ringside can be, especially including the Queen, who we remember used to manage Randy Savage before dumping him over one measly loss."

"Which was for the world title, and so she was justified in sensing he wasn't up to snuff."

"Well in my book, the best managers don't just abandon their wrestlers over one loss, and that's why Elizabeth will always be the better one to me."

"Well I can't read your book, Monsoon; there's no pictures, and the print's too small."

"WILL YOU STOP, BRAIN! Flair drops the elbow hard on Savage's chest, and again. Elizabeth trying to encourage her man on, but he gets thrown hard into the corner again. Flair oozing confidence now, whips him into the ropes again...AND LOOK AT THIS, SAVAGE GRABS THE HEAD AND LOCKS ON THE SLEEPER!" Monsoon roared as the Silverdome exploded, "Macho Man has the sleeper hold locked on tight! Flair struggling and struggling, but Macho won't let go! This could be the change of the title here, and there's nothing that...hold on, Sherri coming over to Elizabeth-she just gave her a hard shove...and now she's choking her!" he gasped, "Sherri choking Elizabeth out against the barriers; look at the insane look in her eye...!"

"Not to worry, Monsoon, she got all her vaccines as a girl; Liz won't get rabies."

"Macho Man breaks the hold and leaps out of the ring, he'll break this up. Savage pulls his former manager off his current one; does he look mad that Sherri would pull that or what?"

"Well, like Jesse always says..."

"Yeah, I know, you win any way you can. And the Macho Man might have won the world title right now if Sherri hadn't pulled that stunt to force him to let Flair go. Macho Man fuming with rage, perhaps realizing that himself, as he forces Sherri back towards her corner; he's yelling at her that if she touches his bride again during the match, he'll break her neck-rough words to be sure, but when it comes to people we love, I'm sure we'd all...wait, what's this?" Monsoon frowned at the sight of the ring apron covering moving right behind Savage, "Who's coming out from...uh oh, it's Jake the Snake!" he gasped, "Jake the Snake slithering out from under the ring with a cold-hearted look on his face; was he under there all this time? Elizabeth crying for her husband to turn around, but I don't think he can hear her over this crowd...and Jake nails him in the back from behind!" he groaned, "Jake Roberts with a sneak attack on the Macho Man...and now he hits him with the DDT! Roberts delivering the DDT to Randy Savage, and I think he's out cold."

"Well you know what Jake always says, Gorilla, D-D-T spells 'The End.'"

"He has no business being at ringside in the first place! Here comes Jack Tunney, and he looks furious..."

"Never mind that, look at that, Flair out of the ring, picks the Macho Man up and rams his back into the side of the ring..."

"I don't care about what filthy tactic Flair's resorting to this time, Brain. Jack Tunney right in Roberts's face; he seems to be warning the Snake that if he doesn't leave the ringside area immediately, he's banned for six months. Roberts yelling back that nobody tells him what to do...AND LOOK AT THAT, HE GIVES TUNNEY THE DDT TOO!" he roared in disgust, "Jake the Snake is completely insane! I think he just punched his ticket out of the WWF!"

"Not necessarily; if he passes this off as an accident, that Tunney fell into it by accident..."

"You're pathetic, Brain, you know that? Jack Tunney is out cold on the floor; Macho Man looks much the same as Flair stomps on the chest. The champion's been outside the ring for well over ten seconds, and look at Jesse; he's having a casual conversation with Blassie on the other side of the ring!"

"Well Savage should have been counted out too, Monsoon; he's been out even longer."

"Under regular circumstances, perhaps, but this is not a regular match, clearly. Elizabeth in tears, shaking her man, trying to revive him after taking the DDT...look out, Jake coming back around, and he's carrying the ring steps with him! He wouldn't dare...!"

"A snake does what he wants to, Monsoon, you should know that by now."

"Jake the Snake with the steel steps in hand; Flair holds the Macho Man up-and Jake clobbers Savage over the head with the steps! He's nothing but a second rate psychopath! And now he's taking the bell off the timekeeper-here comes Elizabeth, she's trying to grab it off him! What courage on that woman's part! Elizabeth straining for all it's worth...and Jake shoves her down to the floor! He'd better not hit her again or DDT her like the last time!"

"No he's not, look, he's backing away..."

"But he's waving Sherri forward, and that's hardly any better. Sherri giving Elizabeth an absolutely brutal glare...OH COME ON, SHERRI STARTS KICKING HER IN THE CHEST! THIS IS CARRYING THE GRUDGE WAY TOO FAR!"

"Well, she and Blassie said, anything went in this one."

"I don't care what the jealous little witch said; they should be confining their actions to the ring, to the Macho Man!"

"Well, look, they are, the Real World's Champion giving Savage piledriver right now, and a darn good one too. That's as legal as it gets."

"But not what's going on outside; Sherri throws Elizabeth hard into the ringpost! She's lost her mind over her jealousy...and what's she doing now? She's gesturing for Jake to hold Elizabeth's leg up, and now she's climbing up to the apron...no, don't do it...!"

But Sherri indeed jumped, coming down hard on Elizabeth's leg and making her cry out in agony. "Oh, you didn't like that?" she growled at the brunette coldly, seizing hold of the leg herself, "Let's see if you like this!"

To the horrified shrieks of the crowd, she rammed Elizabeth's leg into the ringpost, and then stomped on it hard. "Outright brutality by Queen Sherri on the First Lady of Wrestling; this is beyond disgraceful!" Monsoon was absolutely outraged, "Look there at that girl in the front row, I think that may be the Hitman's daughter, in tears, she's screaming for Sherri to stop. Sherri turning towards her, I think she's saying, 'How about I do this to your hero?' What's she going to do now...she's slamming that steel chair of hers on the leg now! Here comes the Macho Man crawling out of the ring, he shooes Sherri and Jake away; I think he's in tears now, seeing what they've done to the woman he loves. Elizabeth in tears, grimacing in clear agony, trying to get up...she can't even stand up. They might have broken the leg. Jesse laying the count on Savage, and a fast one at that. Savage glances to the ring, and Flair waving at him to get in, and down at Elizabeth...he's picking her up, and I think...yes, he's carrying her away from ringside."

"What a quitter; after all he said about going after Flair..."

"He cares for her more, Brain, that's more than clear right now. Getting her medical aid's more important to him than the title. The count is at seven, but Macho doesn't care...but here comes Flair up the aisle from behind, and he downs Savage and Elizabeth with a dropkick! Come on, she needs medical help!"

"There's plenty of people in building more qualified than Savage to handle that."

"And you think it's fair that Flair's now dragging him back to the ring to give him another beatdown? I hope this turns out to be a major mistake on his part; he should have just left the Macho Man go and retained the title that way."

"Well he's not done teaching Savage a lesson."

"That much is clear; Savage rammed hard into the ringpost by Flair, who rolls him into the ring and high-fives an excited Blassie. Jake still pacing around at ringside to offer any assistance that might be needed as Flair goes up to the top rope...and down hard on Savage's chest. Nature King hooks the leg...and Savage just barely escapes another fast count by Jesse. How can he survive everything that's stacked against him in this match?"

"He can't, Monsoon, plain and simple, and now he doesn't have his lady in his corner anymore."

"Elizabeth in the middle of the aisle in clear agony from the manhandling she took at Sherri's hands..."

"Does this mean Sherri's now the First Lady as well as the Queen? She beat Liz handily just now..."

"That title is not up for grabs, Brain. Flair with a big suplex in the middle of the ring, and Savage again just escapes the three count. Everything running against the Macho Man right now; does he have what it takes to come back...?"

* * *

"That's it, give it to him, Ric, give it to him!" Stefano yelled excitedly in the mob's suite, waving his arms wildly in the air.

"Stefano," his uncle raised his hand, but he looked satisfied at the way the match was going thus far himself. "Sorry we had to put old Jack through the DDT," he turned and apologized to the Tunney women, who glared back at him, "But some people have to learn not to intrude on other people's business, namely..."

Abruptly, there came a knock on the door. "Special delivery; free ice cream compliments of the WWF," came a voice from the outside.

"Ice cream?" the don frowned, "I didn't order any ice cream...?"

"Well, if it's free, boss, might as well take it," one of the guards bustled to the door, and opened it. Immediately, a loud humming rose up, and a large object was shoved into the room. The mobsters immediately cried out as their weapons-and indeed, anything metal-was yanked towards the humming supermagnet. And then, with a loud Celtic war cry, Piper leaped over top of it into the room, downing one now unarmed guard with a dropkick. The rest of the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection, plus Virgil, swarmed in as well. "You! Stop them!" Don Vincenelli ordered his men.

"Make us!" Piper picked up and slammed one large goon, then drop kicked another. His teammates were also getting the upper hand on the mob. Slick desperately tried to sneak out with his computer, but Andre cut him off. "Going somewhere?" the Giant asked sternly.

"Listen, brother, it's not quite as bad as it looks," Slick mumbled, "Maybe if we..."

"Is this the heart of your gambling network?" Andre pointed to the computer in his hands.

"Well, yeah, but...hey!" Slick protested as Andre yanked the computer away from him and crushed it with his bare hands. "Uh, bye," Slick gulped, leaping over the supermagnet and running like crazy up the hall. Meanwhile, Bret seized hold of Mrs. Tunney's hands. "Come on, let's get out of here, quick," he urged her, pulling her away while Davey did the same with her daughters.

"What is this thing?" she glanced at the supermagnet.

"Russian magnet; Roddy managed to smuggle it out of the country over Christmas; figured it would be better in our hands than the Soviet military, and clearly he was right," he told her.

"Get them! Virgil you traitor, I didn't pay you to turn on me like this!" Don Vincenelli bellowed at the former bodyguard as he followed everyone out. Virgil turned, shoved Patrizio aside, and bodyslammed him. "I don't work for money anymore, Vincenelli, I work for pride, so tough luck," he barked, storming out. "You all right, Uncle Kenny?" a worried Stefano helped his uncle up.

"I'm fine, Stefano, but now they've evened the odds," the don grumbled, "Go find some extra guns in the limos if we can't shut this infernal contraption off," he gestured with contempt at the still humming supermagnet, "Then get everyone down into the tunnel; prepare to storm the ring in the worse case scenario..."

* * *

"You hear that, Brain?" Monsoon craned his neck towards the luxury suites, frowning at the audible sound of the supermagnet humming, "Sounds like something's going on up there..."

"I don't hear anything except the death of Macho Madness: YEEEEEEEEEEE-HAAAAAAAAAWWW!" Heenan shouted excitedly as Flair delivered another tremendous suplex to Savage in the middle of the ring.

"I could swear I heard something out of the ordinary, Brain. Nature King with another cover; Jesse the Body with another fast count...Macho kicks out at the last possible minute."

"It doesn't matter, it's over; the King's about to prevail," Heenan predicted confidently.

"Not until the Macho Man is pinned."

"He will be, or Flair'll take the countout or DQ if he has to; he doesn't have to beat the Macho Man, the Macho Man has to beat him."

"Indeed, the title can only change hands on pinfall or submission, and the odds are certainly against Randy Savage right now with those three vultures circling around outside the ring, and that duplicitous snake the Body calling the match. Also outside the ring are the WWF medical staff, trying to revive the still out cold President Tunney. Medics also trying to convince the now back at ringside Elizabeth to come with them, but it looks like she's having none of it; she will not abandon her man in the ring, and I give her credit for that kind of loyalty."

"That proves it; she wants to go home with Flair. Look, she's saying something to him now."

"Are you kidding, she's begging Flair to ease up on her man. But of course Flair has no sense of mercy, and Savage goes into the ropes again and takes a big kick to the face. Another cover, another quick count, and another last second escape. Savage thrown hard into the corner..."

"This is for you, baby; WOOOOOO!" Flair shouted at his former girlfriend, charging her husband and splashing him hard. Flair hooked him into position and delivered another brutal suplex to the Macho Man. Then he slowly climbed up to the top rope. "Here comes the big finish, WOOOOO!" he shouted at her again, raising his arms high over his head much like Savage and dove towards him, ready to drop the elbow...

...but Savage rolled out of the way in time. "Quick thinking by Savage, and finally he stops the onslaught the champion's been giving to him nonstop for the last five minutes," Monsoon declared, watching both men roll around on the floor trying to get their bearings.

"No problem, just one little miss; nothing to get nervous about," Heenan twiddled his fingers nervously, "See, Ric's right back up..."

"Flair indeed first on his feet, although looking a little dazed now. Hauls the Macho Man up, whips him into the ropes, sets up the clothesline...no, Savage downs him with a dropkick!" he roared, the rest of the Silverdome following him, "Flair stumbling to the corner, he's climbing up to the top again; I think he's going for the elbow once more...but here comes the Macho Man, and he catches him up there! Randy Savage holding the Nature King high in the air-slams him down hard!"

"Get him up! Get him up! Somebody get him up!" Heenan started sweating nervously.

"Blassie yelling at his man to get up, but Savage over top of him, and he drops the elbow hard on the chest. Gutwrench suplex coming up now-oh yeah! The pendulum has swung the other way in this one."

"Not necessary; shake it off, champ, shake it off!" Heenan shouted worriedly at the ring, "He's got nothing on you...!"

"Savage has Flair by the hair now..."

"Don't hold Flair by the hair; that's not fair to Flair!"

"Will you stop with that! Macho Man with the finger twirl; we're going to see that top rope decapitation move he loves so well. Savage running towards the ropes, over the top rope, and Flair snaps back hard into the ring! Listen to this capacity crowd; they're blowing the roof off the Silverdome!"

"GET HIM UP! PLEASE, SOMEBODY GET HIM UP!" Heenan begged at the top of his lungs.

"Panicking now, are we Brain?" Monsoon smirked at him, "I have a pretty good idea what's riding on this match, and that you and Blassie will be in big trouble if the champion loses this one."

"You don't know anything, Gorilla; come on champ, get up, please!"

"Savage back into the ring like a rocket, grabs Flair by the arm, and now he runs for the other ropes-over the top again and slams the arm against the top rope! Flair howling in agony, clutching the arm..."

"Disqualify him, Jesse, disqualify him! That should be illegal enough to call the match; disqualify him!" Heenan shrieked like a dying swan, "Oh no, no, no, not the elbow!" he cried, seeing Savage going up to his familiar position on the top rope. The challenger jumped and indeed delivered the elbow hard to Flair, who toppled backwards to the mat. Savage hooked the leg and pounded the mat impatiently for Ventura, who again casually walked over at the speed of a turtle, which proved enough time for Flair to desperately rake the eyes and escape the cover. "Savage on a roll, Irish whip into the ropes, and he throws Flair high over his head-and Flair lands throat-first on the ropes and tumbles outside!"

"Pleeeeeeeeeease, Jesse, disqualify him!" the Brain begged the replacement referee.

"He's fast counting Flair out there, are you happy with that, Brain? Savage sliding under the ropes, sliding Flair back in, now pushes him back up and hooks him into position on the ropes. Ventura trying to get into his path; Savage backs up, rushes forward...leapfrogs over the Body and whoa, shoves the champion off the apron into those steel barricades in front of the Harts and the Macho Man's father!"

"Stop the match! Stay down champ, take the countout, just somebody stop the match!" Heenan was white in terror by now.

"Half the Harts emptying their refreshments all over the champion, who's clutching the ribs in agony. Macho Man off the apron with the elbow; he's taken everything the champ could dish out, and now it's payback time."

"STOP THE MAAAAAAAAAATCH!"

"It won't do any good, Brain. Jesse Ventura laying the count on; Savage slams Flair's face into the apron right by his feet to distract him. Here comes Sherri from behind; it looks like she has that same vial thing she had in the Million Dollar Belt match in hand, and she's aiming for Savage's rump..."

"Thank you, finally, stop him, Sherri, stop him!"

"She's not going to; Elizabeth from behind, grabs the vial out of her hand, and smashes whatever it was against the ringpost. Sherri shoves her in a rage; Elizabeth shoves her back. Jesse yelling at the two of them to break it up..."

"Forget about them; keep counting; count them both out; we'll keep the title!"

"He's not counting right now, and whoa, Savage slams Flair's face into those steel ring steps hard! Here comes Sherri again, with the scepter in hand, and Jake charging in from the other side. Savage looks both ways; Sherri winds up and swings...and Savage holds up Flair, and he gets it in the face instead! The champion's busted wide open now-and Savage flips Jake over his head right on top of Sherri! Flair bleeding profusely as he walks dazedly around the ring, trying to..." Monsoon burst into laughter with most of the crowd as Flair fell flat on his face after a few steps. "Fred Blassie trying to get between Savage and his man, brandishing his cane wildly; Savage pulls it out of his hands and throws it towards Sherri and Jake-and now he scoops Blassie up and slams him! Flair trying to crawl away, but he's not going anywhere; Savage picks him up, and here comes a suplex outside the ring-yes! Jesse laying the count on again; Savage rolls Flair into the ring; he's going up to the top rope again..."

"No, no, no, not another elbow! Please God, I'll give anything in church next week; don't end it with the elbow!" Heenan dropped to his knees and begged pathetically.

"The man upstairs knows a hypocrite when he sees one, Brain. Savage perched high in the air, here comes the elbow-yes! This could be it: one, two...no. But even with Jesse slow counting, he almost got the three this time. Savage unconcerned, turning him over for a piledriver...spot on. Another cover...scissor kick by Flair breaks it before Ventura can count. Savage picks him up; are we going to see a running powerslam next? Indeed we are; Flair down hard. Elizabeth calling for her man to give one more elbow; Savage obligingly going up again-and Sherri over to grab the leg; she's hold on for dear life..."

"Don't let go, Sherri baby, please don't let go!"

"She will; Elizabeth hops over on her good leg takes her down! Savage about to come down again with the elbow...yes! Count Jesse, count!"

"Don't count, don't count!"

"Ventura slowly getting down to his knees, but there's the one, there's the two...look at this, Blassie into the ring, and he pulls Savage off his man; give me a break!"

"Yes, yes, thank you, there is a God!" Heenan thrust his hands skyward, "I'll donate ten billion dollars to your trust fund next week, I swear it!"

"Oh really, Brain? Savage irate at Blassie-he's chasing him out of the ring! Blassie running for his life; he just saved his man the title for now, but Macho Madness is about to explode all over him. Around the ring they go, Savage is catching up...but Blassie pulls Elizabeth in front of him as a shield; how low can you get...!"

"Yeah, you want me, Macho, come on, come and get me! I dare you!" Blassie challenged him, gripping Elizabeth's wrists far too tight. Savage froze up, hesitant-but noticed out of the corner of his eye Roberts charging towards him from behind with a steel chair. He ducked the blow, knocked the chair out of Roberts's hands, and shoved his mortal emeny towards Blassie, making him release his bride to get out of the way. Savage lunged towards him again. "Savage chasing Blassie back into the ring, over the fallen Flair-and Savage pins him against the ropes! Listen to this crowd going crazy! Savage with his arms on Blassie's shoulders, shaking him wildly...hold on, Blassie going into his pockets, he's got something in hand...he just threw it to Flair; Savage did not see it. Savage picks Blassie up, and an airplane spin toss to the mats takes the Classy One out of it, but Flair has the object in hand, and Savage coming over towards him..."

"No, Randy, don't; he's armed!" Elizabeth tried to shout a warning to him, but as before, the crowd drowned her voice out with their cries of alarm. And indeed, no sooner had Savage pulled Flair up than the Nature King spun and belted him hard in the face with the foreign object, sending Savage crumpling to the mats. "WOOOOOOO!" the Nature King roared in delight, looking at Ventura, who merely winked at him. Flair tossed the object into Sherri's arms outside the ring and confidently dove on top of Savage for the cover. Ventura dove to his knees and counted as fast as he could...but Savage again kicked out at the last second. "Never mind, Ric, you got him now," Blassie encouraged him from outside, "A few more quick ones, then hit the Figure Four!"

"You got it, O Classy Prime Minister, WOOOOOO!" Flair whipped Savage hold into the corner and splashed him hard, then repeated the procedure into the far corner. He then picked him up and gave him a hard backbreaker, following that up with several hard stomps to the groin. "Flair setting up for the Figure Four it appears; Savage looks dazed from that blow with whatever the champ had..." Monsoon muttered in disgust at the tactics of Blassie and the champion.

"As I was saying, it's over; the King still reigns supreme," Heenan declared confidently, "There, he just gave the signal..."

"Flair indeed signalling for the Figure Four Leglock, and here it comes...Savage fighting it for all he's got...and Flair has the Figure Four locked on. Savage grimacing in agony as Flair pours it on-he's reaching for the ropes with his free hand...and Blassie grabs hold of the arm, come on! Sherri grabs hold of Blassie's hand; Jake grabs hold of her hand and holds onto the barrier; come on, Jesse, do something here!"

"Come on, Jesse, do something here!" Elizabeth repeated the demand at ringside to the referee. Ventura casually sat down in the corner, reached down, and pulled a book out from under the apron, which he started reading in earnest. Growling, the First Lady of Wrestling hopped on her good leg over to Flair's cornerpersons. "Stop it, now!" she demanded, "If he ends it this way, he ends it fairly!"

"We'll end it how we want to end it, princess," Blassie snapped at her, pulling Flair's arm harder, "And you can end this right now if you just say, 'We quit.' Otherwise, we keep pouring it on till he cracks."

"We're not quitting," she shook her head firmly.

"You heard her, we ain't givin' in!" Savage shouted firmly inside the ring, nonetheless grimacing terribly from the Figure Four.

"OK then. Break his legs in two, Ric," Blassie ordered his man, who tightened the Figure Four. "I'm still waiting for that 'We quit.'" he pressed Elizabeth sharply.

"You're not getting it," she said defiantly, and in a flash kicked the Classy One's hand away from Flair's. "OK, sweetheart, you asked for it!" Blassie raised his cane menacingly, "Now I'm going to...!"

"Oh no you're not!" Savage crawled towards the ropes, dragging Flair, who was still pouring on the Figure Four full blast, sideways. "You touch her, and...!"

"On second thought, I think I'm going to do this," Blassie bashed Savage square in the face with his cane. He paused only briefly while Sherri then hit him with her scepter and Roberts with his steel chair, then delivered a pair of additional belts with the cane. "Say it, damn it, or it's total war!" he threatened Elizabeth. Looking ready to break down into tears again, she nonetheless shook her head defiantly. "All right, then. Break the leg clean off, Ric," Blassie ordered his man.

"With pleasure, Freddie," Flair finally released the Figure Four, only to stamp hard on the injured leg. He then slid out of the ring, pulled the leg out, and slammed it hard into the ringpost with an audible whacking sound. "Nature King working hard on that leg, and now he's going up to the top again," Monsoon grimaced, "I think he's going to jump on it now..."

"You bet he is. Give it to him, Ric, give it to him!" Heenan cheered the champion on. Flair took flight with a loud, "WOOOOOOO! and landed hard on the injured leg, which he then grabbed and twisted hard. He then turned Savage over into a Boston Crab and poured it on. "Savage taking an awful lot of punishment now; who knows what condition the leg is in?" Monsoon mused worriedly, "Blassie waving the cane at Elizabeth, demanding she throw in the towel; she's shaking the head no."

"She may be beautiful, but she has no common sense, Gorilla."

"Jesse the Body casually reading in the ring; what a disgrace he's turned out to be! Wait, Savage crawling to the ropes, he's just about under them-he is under them, and Flair breaks the hold-but Savage takes another chair shot by Jake; somebody get him out of here for the love of God! Savage is bleeding just as badly as Flair, who, grabs the leg and dives down to the floor, smashing it hard into the apron. Jesse calling to Savage if he wants to quit while turning the page of his novel; Savage with an emphatic no back; he's trying to get to his feet, but like Elizabeth, it's hard for him to stand up. Flair going up top again; what's going to happen now? Flair jumps...AND SAVAGE CATCHES HIM IN MIDAIR AND SLAMS HIM DOWN! The cover...and Jesse's too busy reading still! Savage pounding the mat in frustration...now he's coming over and grabbing the book away from the Body, and throws it out of the ring! What's Jesse doing...he's yelling at the timekeeper to ring the bell, that Savage is disqualified for using an illegal foreign object in the ring! This is ridiculous!"

"You heard him, ring it, ring the bell!" Heenan begged the timekeeper.

"He's not going to; he's shouting back at Jesse that he's not going to end the match on something that stupid, and I give him credit for following his gut and the rulebook. The Body ordering him to end it...and behind his back, Savage sends Flair into the ropes, drops down himself, and...whoa, he jerks the head up and hits Flair where it really hurts with it! Flair shrieking in agony; Savage slowly stumbling back to his feet-I should say foot-elbow to the face, now sends him hard into the corner...and Flair goes over the top and out of the corner onto the apron! The champ runs along the apron, tries to climb up the top rope...but Savage hops over and cuts him off, and slams him hard to the mat!"

"There's the DQ, for overaggressiveness! Turn around and DQ him for that!" Heenan shouted at the Body, still busy threatening the timekeeper.

"Savage off the ropes, goes airborne, down hard on top of the champion! Blassie is sweating; Sherri is sweating; Jake the Snake is sweating; Bobby the Brain is sweating...!"

"I'M NOT SWEATING; I'M PERFECTLY CALM!" Heenan shrieked at the top of his lungs. "STOP THE MATCH!" he screamed into the ring.

"Jesse yelling at Savage that he's about to be disqualified; Savage ignoring him, hopping around on one foot, and delivers Flair a neckbreaker. Savage crawling to the ropes, sliding up them to get back up, then grabs Flair and throws him out of the ring...!"

Blassie frantically waved his fellow cornerpersons close. "Enough playing around; time to go full tilt with everything we've got!" he told them, digging the case out of his pocket. He raced around the ring to roughly where Flair was lying, groaning, and hid around the ringpost, waiting for Savage to reach the top rope. "Five," he counted down softly, "four, three, two, one...!"

He jumped around the post at the moment Savage leaped, opened the case, and to the loud screams of the capacity crowd, including Elizabeth's, threw a fireball in the Macho Man's face as he landed. Howling, Savage missed Flair, hit the mat hard, and stumbled around in agony. "Blassie with a fireball sneak attack!" Monsoon was outraged, "Another cane shot to the Macho Man as Flair stumbles to his feet-and now he's shoving everything off the timekeeper's table and draping Savage over it!"

"Well, you could say that move really lit up his life, huh?"

"WILL YOU STOP! Sherri climbing up on the apron; she'd better not...she does; off the apron, and the Sensational Queen smashes her former protege clean through the table! And oh no, Jake's rummaging around under the ring-he's got that supersized shock stick that was used to incapacitate the Hulkster! Blassie grabs an ice tray from the wreckage of the timekeeper's table, no, he's dumping the water and ice all over Savage! Elizabeth jumping bravely into Jake's way to stop him...oh God, he shoves her down again, and here he comes with the shock stick...!"

"When you play with a snake, Macho, you always get bit!" the Snake barked, jamming the shock stick into Savage's chest to the horrified screams of the crowd. Savage vibrated wildly from the electrocution, made worse by his dampened condition. "Macho Man being coldly shocked into submission; Elizabeth in tears, being held back by Sherri, who's bending the arm brutally hard. Jake hands the shock stick off to Flair, who plunges it into Savage's chest again while Jesse the Body just casually looks on up on the apron! Blassie pulling up the mats; Jake hauling Savage up once Flair finishes shocking him-hooks him into position, no, not again...another DDT, this one onto solid concrete! Jake laughing coldly, pulls him up again...and a third DDT! Macho Man unconscious, kicked back into the table wreckage by Jake...where's Jake going now...what's...?"

"I kept my word again, Tunney," Roberts called mockingly to the WWF President, finally starting to be brought around by the medics, "No snakes in the corner..."

He pulled up the ring apron and withdrew a familiar ominous black bag with a red cobra head on it...a bag that was visibly moving. "No, no, not the cobra!" Monsoon was horrified, "Anything but the cobra...!"

"Yeah, the cobra!" Roberts shouted into the camera as if reading the commentator's mind, holding the bag skyward to the terrified screams of the crowd, "And his five brothers too..."

He hefted his familiar black glove from under the ring as well and slipped it on, oblivious to the crowd's screams. "And now, Savage, I finish what I started," he growled at the limp, bleeding Macho Man lying in a heap among the twisted wreckage of the timekeeper's table, starting to undo the bag, "Like Paul says, ashes to ashes and dust to dust. _Trust me..." _

"STOP IT!" hysterical, Elizabeth jumped in front of her husband and raised her hands protectively, "PLEASE, STOP IT!"

"Oh, poor baby wants to be the hero? What a poor excuse you are!" the Snake growled at her, "Here we go...!"

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!" she pleaded frantically, shoving Roberts's arm away, "Why are you doing this!"

"Because you want to take MY title, it's as simple as that!" Blassie bent down and barked in her face, "Now you either say 'We quit' right now, or I let Jake open the bag and do what he wants. Say it, and we stop!"

Looking terribly torn, Elizabeth took a deep breath and shook her head again. "All right, Jake, finish him off," Blassie instructed the Snake, who grinned darkly and continued opening the bag. "NO, STOP!" Elizabeth shrieked tearfully, smothering Savage, "STOP IT, ALL OF YOU!"

"Then quit, damn you!" Sherri demanded, slapping her hard across the face.

"I'll handle this; beg!" Roberts bent down and grabbed the First Lady of Wrestling roughly by the chin, "You want to save him, start begging now, and I better like what I hear!"

Whimpering tearfully, Elizabeth could only manage a few incoherent pleas. "Not good enough!" Roberts seized her by the hair and yanked her up to the horrified shrieks of the crowd, "Now I get to have some fun...!"

"I get first dibs, Jake," Blassie told him firmly, "I've wanted a piece of her for a long time."

Roberts growled in frustration. "Leave some for me, Freddie," he barked, shoving Elizabeth into Sherri and Flair's arms, "I want to cultivate her into something even I can enjoy!"

"Oh you will, Jake. But first," Blassie glared coldly at Elizabeth, raising his cane high, "You'd better learn from this than nobody, especially a stupid little skirt like you, tries to outmanage Freddie Blassie and gets away with it unscathed!"

He placed the cane right up against her face and reared it back for a tremendous blow...


	13. Chapter 13

NOOOO!" in a flash, Bruce leaped over the barriers and jumped between Blassie and Elizabeth, "Don't do it, Blassie! This wasn't part of the deal to...!"

"Get out of the way, Hart, or I'll give you a beatdown too!" Blassie threatened him, raising his cane high.

"Then do it, because if you're bent on this, the deal's off!" Bruce said emphatically, "Tell Vincenelli I'd rather see New Stampede go under that allow this to...!"

In a flash, Blassie swung and belted him hard in the face with the cane. Bruce crumpled to the mats in front of Elizabeth in agony, prompting a loud shriek from Helen. "Shut up, you old bag; he got what he deserved!" Blassie barked at the Hart matron, "And now," he turned coldly back to the stunned Elizabeth, "time to give you what you've...!"

Suddenly, a familiar theme blared to life over the Silverdome loudspeakers-one that sent the crowd into a frenzy, and made Blassie and his cohorts go unexpectedly pale. "No!" the Classy One mumbled in horror, "No, no, no, no, it's not happening...!"

_"When it comes crashing down and it hurts inside..."_ the song began in earnest at the exact moment the spotlight blinked on, revealing a third cart racing up the aisle, with a familiar figure standing determinedly at the front of the cart, "_You've got to take a stand it don't help to hide..." _

**"NOOOOOOOO!"** Blassie shrieked, his eyes wide in shock,** "IT'S NOT POSSIBLE! HE'S IN THE HOSPITAL WITH EVERY BONE BROKEN!" **

"If you hurt my friends, then you hurt my pride," Hulk's voice boomed firmly over a microphone, his finger thrust straight at his former manager and his cronies, "I've got to be a man; I CAN'T let it slide...!"

"Uh oh, he's got Marella too!" Sherri gulped, noticing the world title match's schedule referee on the cart behind Hulk.

"Ric, Jake, stop him!" Blassie ordered the Nature King and Snake, who rushed off to intercept the cart, "Jesse, do something!" he pleaded with the Body.

"Already done, Freddie; I'm the real referee here. Ring the bell," Ventura ordered the timekeeper, "Savage is disqualified for outside interference."

"Are you crazy?" the timekeeper protested, "Hogan's not even in the ring yet!"

"I said ring the bell, or I'll wring your neck!" Ventura threatened, seizing the timekeeper by the collar, "Is that what you...?"

Abruptly, his legs were pulled out from under him, sending him toppling to the floor. "You ain't disqualifying me, Ventura!" a revived Savage roared, "And you!" he snarled coldly at Blassie and Sherri, stumbling to his feet, "GET...YOUR...HANDS...OFF...OF...HER...!"

"One more step, Macho, and she gets it!" Blassie warned him, rearing back with the cane, "Don't think I won't...!"

In a flash, Elizabeth sank her teeth into Sherri's hand, making her howl and release her. Savage grabbed the cane off Blassie and started belting the Classy One with it in a rage. In the meantime, Hulk launched himself off the front of the cart as it reached ringside, taking Roberts and Flair down. "Get off of me!" the former bellowed underneath him.

"Hold your water, Jake; I'll take care of him!" Sherri rushed forward with her steel chair in hand and raised it high over her head, but Hulk rolled out of the way at the last moment, and Roberts got nailed with the chair instead. "Why you...!" the Snake roared, yanking the chair off of her and swinging it back at her in turn. Hulk rushed over to Elizabeth. "Are you all right?" he asked her, concerned, snatching up Roberts' cobra bag as well and tying it firmly shut.

"I think so, Hulk. What are you doing here? Aren't you...?"

"Joey Marella was forced to sign Jesse as his replacement; I helped bring him here, and it looks like I made it just in time," Hulk waved Marella forward.

"Too late, Hogan, I'M the referee, and you just got Savage disqualified for outside interference!" Ventura barked at him. He grabbed the world championship belt, thrust it into the fallen Flair's arm, and raised it high, "Winner, and still champion...!"

"Oh no you don't!" Marella grabbed it off Flair, "I'm back to normal now, Ventura, and I'M the officially assigned referee! This match goes on!"

"This match is over!" Ventura snatched the belt back and shoved him.

"It's continuing!" Marella grabbed the belt back and shoved him in turn.

"It's over!"

"Mr. Tunney?" Marella asked the company president, coming around the ring, rubbing his head. "The match continues; you're in charge, Marella," the WWF President declared, scowling at Ventura, "And I'll have a word with you later, Jesse."

"I don't care what you say, the match is over! Flair won fair and...!" the Body bellowed. In a flash, Savage nailed him with Blassie's cane from behind. "That's what you get for screwing everything up in the first place, Ventura, ooooooooooh yeeeeeeaah!" the Macho Man growled, storming towards Roberts and giving him several harsh cane blows as well before breaking the cane in two over his knee and tossing the pieces aside. He slid into the ring as Marella climbed up on the apron and started counting. "Never mind, Ric," now bleeding himself from Savage's attack with his cane, Blassie grabbed the belt and took Flair by the arm, "Come on, we're out of here; we'll take the countout."

"You're not going...!" Hulk tried to cut them off, but Blassie shoved his former protege to the ground. He and Flair bustled past the ring carts, not paying any attention to the Kanes on the back end of Hulk's, and made a beeline up the aisle...

...but stopped as Andre's looming form, and indeed those of the entire Rock 'n Wrestling Connection, came lumbering swiftly up the aisle towards them to a tremendous cheer from the crowd. "Out of our way, all you pencil-neck geeks!" Blassie warned them all.

With a snarl, an abruptly unleashed Mathilda charged at him, forcing him and Flair backwards. "No way, Blassie; you and Flair are finishing this match whether you like it or not," the bulldog's master barked at him, "And we're going to make sure of it."

"Get out of here, you mutt!" Blassie yelled, kicking at Mathilda, who bit into his pant leg and ripped it off. This distracted the Classy One long enough for Hulk, having heaved himself back onto his feet, to grab Flair and fling him into the ring just before Marella could reach the count of ten. The Connection spread out around the ring, forming a wall. "Bruce, you all right?" Bret peeled his eyes away from the ring long enough to help his brother up, concerned.

"I think so," Bruce fingered the welt on his face. "I'm OK, Mom," he assured Helen, who breathed a sigh of relief. "I told them everything, Bret, and the deal with the mob's completely off," he admitted to him, "Maybe it is better if New Stampede goes under."

"Now you're thinking smart, Bruce; there's more important...oh no you don't, Flair!" noticing the Nature King trying to slip out of the ring nearby, Bret grabbed Flair and flung him back in again, right into Savage's arms for a snap suplex. "Well, have a seat then Bruce; we'll try and end this in our favor-ah, Timmy, Mrs. Kane," he noticed them on the carts as well, "How'd...?"

"I don't really know, Mr. Hart; one moment, I was taking Timmy to see Mr. Hogan in the hospital, and now, here we are here, in Detroit, before a school night," Mrs. Kane admitted, still looking in shock.

"Well, glad to have you either way. Have a seat with my folks," the Hitman gestured towards his family's row.

"Oh boy, the rest of the Hart family," Timmy was visibly thrilled as he and his mother hopped the railing, "I hear you all were good wrestlers back in the day," he asked Keith, the Hart nearest the railing.

"Uh, yeah, sort of," Keith admitted, "I take it you're a friend of Bret's...?"

"We met him last July, Keith; gave him ringside seats for Saturday Night; Timmy Kane's the name; big fan," Bret called to him, clapping excitedly as Savage slammed Flair hard into the corner.

"So you're all wrestlers too?" Mrs. Kane frowned confusedly at the Harts.

"These are the Harts, Mom; they're the first family of wrestling; they wrote the whole book on it," her son told her eagerly, "Didn't you ever hear about the Hart Dungeon?"

"Um...?"

"Have a seat, miss," Stu was chuckling, "I can explain as much as I can..."

"No, no, snap out of it, Flair, come on!" Smith desperately screamed at the bleeding Nature King, now having his head smashed into the corner, "We've got fifty grand riding on you...!"

"Aha, a confession!" Ellie pointed a finger in his face, "I knew you and Dean would come clean eventually!"

"Did I say...wait, let me rephrase that...!"

"Going your way, Davey; stop him!" Diana shouted to her husband, noticing Flair trying to sneak out of the ring again. And indeed, the British Bulldog cut Flair off and threw him back in again. "Once again the momentum has shifted in this one; Macho Man with the edge, and the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection has come down to the ring to make sure we have a definitive winner in this one. And Joey Marella is back and in full officiating capacity, which is perhaps the best news of the night so far," Monsoon was smiling broadly to see Marella all right.

"They can't do this! This wasn't supposed to be a lumberjack match!" Heenan was sweating buckets, ripping up his program nervously, "Sherri, Jake, snap out of it, get them out of here!"

"Unfortunately, the Queen and the Snake won't be able to do too much; the Big Boss Man currently handcuffing both of them to the railing to make sure they don't interfere any more than they already have in this match," Monsoon pointed to the former prison guard "incarcerating" Flair's corner persons, "And look at this, Ventura still up on the apron, screaming that Savage is disqualified; he's been officially relieved of his duties as referee, so his words have no weight...and the Boss Man now takes him down with the nightstick to the leg; he's dragging Jesse over to the railing too, and he's going to be handcuffed there as well! Boss Man now catches Flair as he tries to bail again, and throws him back in once more; Savage sets him up for a suplex-yes! Macho Man with the cover: one, two...just missed."

"Stop the match, please!" the Brain begged anyone listening, "Macho's out of control, stop him!"

"This is payback for everything, Brain. Savage yelling at Flair, it appears, 'This is for playing her and dumping her!' And there's a hard slam into the corner to prove his point! Savage now yelling, 'And this is for refusing her the loan to her gym out of spite!', and he's setting the champ up for a slingshot-spot on! Flair stumbling, trying to hold onto the ropes; Savage pulls the legs up and cracks them like a whip, and Flair is down again! Another cover...another two count, but Flair looks like he's just about out of steam. There we see the Hulkster, having made his miraculous appearance here tonight, with his arm around the lovely Elizabeth, who is being very ably avenged by her man, both of them encouraging the Macho Man on. And on the other side, Freddie Blassie looks pale, he's sweating bullets...and he's waving hard down the aisle," Monsoon frowned and turned towards the aisle, "Who's he...look out, here comes the rest of the Million Dollar Corporation down to ringside! Freddie Blassie uses the last ace up his sleeve; he's calling out the rest of the Million Dollar Corporation...and it looks like his fellow Million Dollar Corporation managers' stables too; it seems like everyone who works for him, you, Brain, and Jimmy Hart, and Mr. Fuji as well, swarming through the curtain towards the ring...!"

"Thank God, the cavalry came in time!" Heenan thrust his hands skyward, "And oh yeah, that includes Yokozuna. I knew the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection wasn't going to get away with this...!"

"An enormous pack of immoral wrestlers charging full steam towards the ring; Hitman sees them, yells to the rest of the Connection to head them off; he rushes forward, meets the One Man Gang head on, and we've got a brawl breaking out here..."

"Futile gesture by Hart; they're hopelessly outnumbered," Heenan predicted confidently.

"Hold on, speaking of the cavalry, here comes the other cavalry!" Monsoon roared as more figures emerged from the curtain, "Here comes Tugboat, leading a charge into the arena; behind him, Brutus the Barber, Razor Ramon, JYD, L.O.D., and everyone the Hulkster and his colleagues consider friends! Get ready for an all-out war here in the Silverdome! Tugboat makes a beeline for Yokozuna, who's got his hands around Tito Santana's neck, and bumps him almost off his feet; the newcomers start going head to head with the Million Dollar Corporation and their cronies; we've got at least sixty or seventy guys out here going at it-I think it's close to the entire WWF roster here now! And look at the Anvil and the Rocket; they're climbing out of the front row and joining the brawl too! Listen to this place go bananas; who'd've thought we'd see this tonight!?"

"Somebody get by them and get in the ring to stop Macho!" Heenan begged the members of the Heenan Family and their associates in the melee.

"Hulkster standing guard with Elizabeth as the last line of defense for...wait, now who's coming?" Monsoon noticed even more figures coming up the aisle, "They look like..."

"There, right there," a furious Don Vincenelli pointed into the ring, "Shoot Macho, all of you!" he ordered his men, who cocked their weapons, "Shoot him now!"

Hulk, though, saw the mobsters aiming their guns. "Andre, here, there!" he pointed up the aisle, tossing Roberts' cobra bag to the Giant. Andre assessed the situation, nodded, undid the bag, and flung it towards the mobsters as hard as he could. It hit the ground near their feet, spilling the cobras out. Hissing angrily, they slithered towards the gangsters, who screamed in terror and rushed backwards away from them. "Quick thinking by Andre, who clearly has overcome his earlier fear of snakes, protecting the Macho Man at the moment," Monsoon breathed in relief, "Jake the Snake glowering at his bag being thrown away, trying to get his wrist out of the Boss Man's handcuffs, but there's no way he's getting out of those!"

He took a brief drink of water before turning his sights back to the all-out melee at ringside: "And all around the ring, we have approximately seventy guys going at it: Tugboat picks up and slams Rick Martel; Rick Rude smashing Hillbilly Jim's face off the barriers; Jim Neidhart pounding away on Greg Valentine and laughing as he does; the Rougeaus and Men on a Mission going at it full tilt, and countless other encounters going so fast I can't keep track of them all! Ted DiBiase brawling with his now former bodyguard Virgil-they're really going at it tooth and nail; Owen Hart dropkicks Mr. Perfect, and now does the same to the beardless Big John Studd; Hacksaw Duggan whamming Nikolai Volkoff in the face with his two by four, another humiliation tonight for the so-called pride of the Soviet Union! Yokozuna being double-teamed by Koko and the Tornado; Bushwhackers double-teaming Bundy; we have...hold on," he frowned, leaning forward and squinting at the monitor, "Did the Undertaker just belt Jake there?"

"Nah, he couldn't have; they're the best of friends in the Corporation," Heenan blinked hard at the monitor.

"I could swear I just saw the Deadman give Jake a big slug from behind; maybe the big guy does have a heart after all. And in the ring, it's all Randy Savage, on a roll even on one leg, nailing Ric Flair with a reverse knife edge..."

"Stay by the ropes! Stay by the ropes! Don't let go of the ropes, please!" Heenan begged pathetically.

"It's not going to do him any good, Brain; the end is near for the Nature King. Inverted atomic drop sends the champion reeling, Savage takes him down with a dropkick. Flair into the ropes, a big kick to the chest, and now Savage scoops him up and slams him-and he slips out of the ring and heads up to the top rope; this is it right now if he hits the elbow...!"

Savage paused for a second when he reached the top rope. He glanced briefly down at the dazed Flair, then sideways at Elizabeth and Hulk, who both mouthed, "Go for it!', and then his father in the front row, who gave him a smile and a thumbs-up. "OOOOOOOOOOOOHHHH YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAHHH!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs, raising his arms high. He measured Flair and jumped with the elbow extended for the final impact...

...except Flair got the knees up and drove them into his chest, then grabbed Savage's trunks. The force of the jump caused them both to roll over across the ring, repeatedly switching positions. Calculating Flair would be on top by the time they stopped, Savage quickly kicked off the nearest ringpost and sent them rolling the other way, still clutching each other hard. Flair then kicked the opposite ringpost, sending them tumbling head over heels towards the center of the ring, still alternating positions rapidly. Slowly, they started slowing to a stop in the middle of the ring, where their momentum could not be restarted. In front of over a hundred thousand cheering fans, almost all of them on their feet, the two of them finally came to a stop...

...with Savage on top. He saw Marella sliding into position, and heard the horrified cry of Blassie, who started climbing frantically into the ring in slow motion. The Classy One crossed under the ropes at the count of one, charged full steam towards Savage, and was almost on top of him at the count of two...but then was upended as Hulk slingshotted himself into the ring too and undercut his former manager's legs, also seemingly in slow motion, sending Blassie falling to the mat screaming, "NOOOOOOOOOOO!" He impacted the mat on his back inches away from Savage...and moments later, Marella's hand hit the mat for the third time. The bell rang loudly and triumphantly. And Savage knew it was over. He had done it. "OOOOOOOOOOOHHHHH YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAHHH!" he roared in delight, thrust his fist upwards, where it was caught hold of and held up by Marella. "Winner and new champion!" the referee declared.

"YEEEEEESS! YEEEEESSS!" shrieking in delight, Elizabeth raced into the ring and practically leaped on top of him, hugging him tightly. "You did it, Randy; I knew you could do it!" she gasped happily between excited sobs of joy.

"Didn't I say I'd do it for you?" he smiled warmly at her, raising her hand in victory as well.

"Great work, brother," Hulk grinned at him, clasping Savage's hand and giving it the Mega Powers Handshake, "If anyone deserved the title more than you, I couldn't name them. Over here," he waved the timekeeper to bring the belt in, "Let's give this to the real champion..."

"IT'S MINE, AND HE CAN'T HAVE IT!" tears of rage flowing down his own face, Blassie grabbed the belt off the timekeeper and dashed like a rocket out of the ring, barreling through the crowd of still-brawling wrestlers and up the aisle...

...straight into Andre, who was holding a struggling Don Vincenelli in one hand. "I don't think that belongs to you anymore, Freddie," the Giant glowered down at him.

"It's my belt, Andre; I spent thirty years earning it; Macho's not getting it no matter what the officials say!" Blassie struggled to hold onto the belt when Andre grabbed hold of it with his free hand, "Let go; I'm not letting...!"

Andre kicked him in the chest, making him let go of the belt. Draping it over his shoulder, the Giant picked Blassie up and gave him a one-handed chokeslam. "Good work, Andre," the Boss Man approached, grinning. "So, this is the mastermind behind everything?" he glared at the don.

"That's Kennedesco Vincenelli, Ray," Tunney approached, frowning, "And yes, he's behind everything. I see security's taking care of the rest of his outfit," the WWF President glanced down the tunnel to see the arena security detail handcuffing and hauling off the rest of the mobsters. "I win, Vincenelli," he glared in his foe's face, "The WWF stays with me, to be run the way I want-yes, get them out of here," he told the approaching security personnel, who rushed towards the brawling wrestlers and started dragging away all those affiliated with the Million Dollar Corporation and their managers.

"Permission to teach him a lesson, Mr. Tunney?" Andre requested, holding up Don Vincenelli.

"Go right ahead, Andre," the WWF President smirked.

"All right, boy, now you're going to face some hard time-you too, Freddie!" the Boss Man drew two additional sets of handcuffs and slapped them on both men, "I've been waiting a long time to give you this Blassie...!"

"The pictures, Jimmy, flash the pictures! FLASH THE PICTURES!" Blassie screamed in desperation into his tuxedo radio as his former charge dragged him and the don towards the ring.

"You got it, Freddie; humiliating pictures of Liz coming right up!" Jimmy obligingly jammed the incriminating disc into the control room player deck and hit Play-but the images that popped up on the Silverdome's big screens weren't of Elizabeth, but of Flair himself: namely Flair drunk, nude and making hot love to beautiful women. "What is this!?" the Mouth of the South roared, quickly stopping the disc, but not in time to keep the audience from roaring at a thoroughly humiliated Flair in the ring, "You gave me the wrong the disc, Ric...!"

"FREEZE!" came the order as the control room door burst open, and a dozen or so security guards burst in, their weapons drawn. Jimmy's arms shot up in a flash. "This...this isn't what it looks like..." he mumbled in defeat.

In the ring, the don and Blassie were thrown on top of Ventura, Sherri, and Roberts, who in turn had been stacked on top of an unhandcuffed Flair. "You dudes have gone too far here in this match," Hulk told them sharply, "Now, whatcha gonna do when the reunited Mega Powers run wild on you?"

"Unbelievable; I've been waiting a long time to do this, OOOOOOOOHHH YEEEEEEEAAAAHH!" Savage agreed, giving his partner a strong Mega Powers Handshake. He hobbled to the corner (all while the rest of the Connection held their foes down) and climbed up to the top rope, where he measured all six people stacked in the human pyramid and jumped, ramming the flying elbow into them-then rolled aside as Hulk bounced off the ropes and leaped to hit them with the leg drop as well. "Let me have one more too, Hulk," Andre slowly climbed up to the top rope himself to a tremendous cheer from the crowd. "No, no, no, no...!" a wide eyed Blassie begged desperately.

"Don't do it, you overgrown ox; we'll have you suspended for life!" Sherri frantically threatened him.

"I'm retiring, so there," Andre nonchalantly jumped and came down hard on them all to a standing ovation. Gasping in agony, everyone in the pile rolled out of the ring, bent over and clutching their chests in agony. "Now what?" Sherri, gasping like a dying animal, moaned.

"Shut up, Martel; I'm trying to think!" Blassie shouted at her, ducking the debris being flung at them all by the jeering crowd.

"Freddie Blassie, how does it feel to have lost the title...?" Okerlund approached them with a microphone.

"No comment, Okerlund; leave us alone right now!" Ventura barked at him, shoving past him. "You idiots should have planned this through better!" he berated the rest of his cronies as Monsoon bustled past them towards the ring to try and interview the new champion as well, leaving a sobbing Heenan behind at the broadcast position, "I did everything I could for all of you, and you still couldn't seal the deal...!"

"OH SHUT UP!" the rest of them shouted at him in unison.

"NOBODY tells Jesse the Body to shut up!" Ventura bumped Flair hard (unable to do much more while handcuffed). Flair unhandcuffed, shoved him back, and soon the six of them were brawling with each other as best they could while handcuffed all the way up the aisle. Finkel waited until the six of them staggered out of the arena-after taking an absolute pelting with countless debris-before climbing into the ring one last time. "Ladies and gentlemen," he made his final announcement with a warm smile, "the winner of this bout-and NEEEEEEEEEEWWW World Wrestling Federation champion, Randy 'Macho Man' Savage!"

"OOOOOOOOOOOHHHHH YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHH!" Savage seized the microphone in delight, snatching the world title off the timekeeper (whom Andre had given it to while he finished their foes off) and thrusting it high to a standing ovation. "Good work, Randy," Bret patted him happily on the shoulder, "You just saved the WWF from a fate worse than death."

"I don't know, amigo," Tito looked a little unsure, "I think that guy'll be back, and maybe there's even more like him out there. They'll keep trying to change the WWF into something unpleasant..."

"Maybe, Tito, but for now, the company's safe for families everywhere," the Hitman strolled over to the ropes and held them open for a smiling Angelo, who'd been allowed out by security. "Great, great job, Randy," the wrestling legend gave him a warm hug, " I couldn't be prouder than I am now."

"Thanks, Dad," Savage blinked back his own tears, "That means so much right now..."

"And thank you too, miss," his father shook Elizabeth's hand proudly, "He couldn't have done this with your training."

"That's for sure; this is her belt more than mine. Bring that stuff over too," Savage waved to Steamboat, who carried over Flair's crown and king's robe, which had still been in his corner. The Macho Man placed both of these on Elizabeth, draped the belt over his wife's shoulder and raised her hand in triumph, then quickly hoisted her up on his shoulder to a loud cheer. "I can do one better, Macho," Andre bustled over, took Savage around the waist, and hoisted both he and Elizabeth onto his own shoulders. "Not bad, Andre, just be careful," Bret winked knowingly at him.

"Macho Man, you did it," Okerlund approached the Giant and raised his microphone towards the new world champion, "How does it feel?"

"We're going to Disney World, oooooooooooh yeeeeeeeaaaahhh!" Savage declared, "Macho Madness is running wild!"

"What a match, Macho; this was one for the ages," Monsoon, having warmly embraced Marella, approached as well, "And Hulkster, what an entrance..."

"You know the Mega Powers stick together, Gorilla, and I have the Kanes here to thank for getting me here in time. Let them in," Hulk gestured for security to open the barriers for the Kanes.

"Let then all in," Bret waved at the nearest security officers, who nodded and opened the barriers for the rest of his family, the Kanes, and the rest of the front row. "Thank you, Bret," Helen gave him a kiss once the Harts had entered the ring.

"I wouldn't have gotten as far without you and Dad; you deserve this, Mom," he kissed her back, "And one day," he glanced at the Savages on Andre's shoulders, "That's going to be me, I can feel it in my gut..."

"It's going to be Davey too, Bret, and if he has to beat you for it, so be it," Diana, still looking upset her husband had lost earlier in the evening, snapped at him.

"Well, let's hope so, darling, but let's not fight right now," their mother told them gently, "This is Mr. Savage's moment..."

"Indeed. Everyone, all together," the Hitman picked up his daughter and son and waved with his head for everyone to get into a line, chuckling as Andre snatched up Hulk and Timmy with his free hand and lifting them up as well, "I think we should all take a bow for the fans."

"A bow is good, Bret. All together now," Steamboat, with Richie in hand and the Intercontinental belt draped over his shoulder, took hold of Bonnie's hand and stepped forward. The rest of the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection, and indeed all the other remaining wrestlers at ringisde, plus Okerlund and Monsoon, followed and took a pair of bows in unison as pyrotechnics exploded all around the ring, providing, without doubt, the perfect ending to the greatest sporting spectacle of all time...

OF COURSE, WE ALL RECALL EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENED IN THE YEARS TO FOLLOW...

BUT, IT CAN STILL BE SAID THAT, FOR ONE BRIEF, SHINING MOMENT, THIS WAS CAMELOT.

THE END


End file.
